The  New  Mr.  Howerson 


Opie  Read 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

"Ma"  Crandtll 


The  New  Mr.  Howerson 


The 

New  Mr.  Howerson 


By 

Opie  Read 


The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co. 
Chicago 


Copyright,   1914 

by 

The  Reilly  &   Britton  Co. 


The  New  Mr.   Howerson 


PREFACE 

' '  You  Ve  written  on  this  book  long  enough  to  warrant 
a  preface,"  a  friend  remarked.  "  During  four  years 
you  have  worked  at  it,  writing  it  twice  with  a  pen,  then 
turning  it  into  a  play,  to  catch  at  every  possibility  of 
dramatic  action  —  then  showing  judgment  by  not  pro 
ducing  the  play.  Now  why  don't  you  write  a  preface? 
Somebody  might  read  it." 

"  Yes.  And  I  could  say  that  I  know  these  characters, 
that  I  cannot  believe  otherwise  than  that  they  are  living. 
With  them  I  have  kept  close  company  —  ' ' 

' '  Don 't  believe  I  'd  say  that.  It  would  show  that  you 
have  associated  with  some  rather  desperate  fellows." 

"  And  so  has  every  man  who  has  known  this  town  for 
thirty  years." 

"  But  I'd  leave  it  out.  Take  no  reader  into  any 
except  a  respectable  confidence.  .  .  .  You  might  say 
something  about  its  being  a  departure  from  your  other 
books." 

"  Though  not  a  departure  from  human  nature,  let  us 
hope." 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  The  Agents  of  Justice 9 

II  Electing  a  Martyr 14 

III  The  Old  Mr.  Howerson 26 

IV  Old  Calvin 38 

V  Hunting  a  Bed 47 

VI  The  Torture  Chamber 58 

VII  The  Mission  of  the  Bulldog 69 

VIII  The  Chill  of  the  Bulldog 85 

IX  The   Cabin 102 

X  The  Shrewd  Mayor 120 

XI  The    Ordinance 140 

XII  The  Hide  of  the  Wolf 149 

XIII  Another  Mission 155 

XIV  A  New  Mr.  Watkins 168 

XV  The  Old  Man's  Letter 176 

XVI  The  Amusing  Follies  of  Life 191 

XVII  On  the  Real  Stage 201 

XVIII  Chuckled    Over   It 211 

XIX  But  God  Said  There  Was  a  Devil 220 

XX  A  Little  Play 228 

XXI  Not  the  Printed  Book 238 

XXII  A  Piece  of  Gold 248 

XXIII  Millionaired   Long  Legs 256 

XXIV  The   Inquisition 267 


8 


Contents  Continued 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXV     Slapped  His  Face  With  a  Look 277 

XXVI     Wanted :   A  Model  Home 284 

XXVII     She  Couldn't  Talk  to  Him 294 

XXVIII     Never  Thought  of  Such  a  Thing 303 

XXIX    She  Did  Not  Exist 309 

XXX     In  a  Creamy  Envelope .' 315 

XXXI     The   Two   Knights 319 

XXXII     Might  Live  to  Reach  There 323 

XXXIII  Colonel  Banstree 333 

XXXIV  Old   Sam 340 

XXXV    A  Dog  Howled 348 

XXXVI     A  Scrap  of  Paper 356 

XXXVII     Wanted  His  Poems 362 

XXXVIII    "  Nigger  Here   Too !  " 369 

XXXIX    A   Straggling  Visit 376 

XL     The  Power  That  Moves  the  World 392 

XLI     His  Elder  Sister 402 

XLII    Working  His  Scheme 416 

XLIII    And  the  Wretch  Didn't  Know  It 422 

XLIV     Too   Weak   Now 433 

XLV     Stood  With  Her  Head  Erect 440 

XL VI  Where  the  Road  Forked. .                     .  447 


The  New  Mr.  Howerson 

CHAPTER  I. 
THE   AGENTS   OF   JUSTICE 

A  cold  northwest  wind  swept  the  streets.  March, 
scolding  dame  of  the  year,  shrieked  her  complaint.  In 
the  somber-clad  throng  that  crowded  the  cobbled  thor 
oughfare,  no  countenance  seemed  illumined  with  happi 
ness.  Slaves  emancipated  for  the  night,  and  worse  than 
slaves,  women  of  the  sweat  shops,  struggled  homeward 
to  sleep,  to  awake  with  the  ever-just  sigh  against  fate, 
and  then  to  return  to  the  galleys  of  the  soul.  Dwarfed 
and  mirthless  youth,  disappointed  middle  life  and  old 
age,  victims  of  deadening  toil  and  cheated  of  the  balm 
of  philosophy,  all  struggling  to  pull  apart  from  one 
another,  to  be  individuals,  and  yet  each  one  but  a  type 
in  a  vast  herd  of  anxiety  and  discontent. 

But  just  around  a  granite  corner,  a  tide  of  a  different 
hue  was  sweeping,  the  tide  of  success  in  life:  conscious 
power  in  the  legalized  throat-cutting  of  trade,  buttoned 
up  in  cold  and  Puritanic  dignity;  vigorous  youth,  and 
ashen-jawed  age  —  almost  unable  to  walk  but  able  to 
make  ten  thousand  strong  men  walk  all  night,  dreading 
the  morrow  —  anemia  in  glittering  motor  car  that 
seemed  tremulous  to  break  loose  from  all  restraint  and 
to  leave  blood,  broken  bones  and  death  in  its  wake ;  men 
athletic  with  hope;  women  with  nurtured  complexions 
furred  against  the  wind  —  all  bent  for  home,  for  cafe 

9 


10  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

or  for  some  place  where  amusement  might  be  offered  and 
rejected  with  ostentatious  yawn:  the  world's  eternal 
contrasts. 

Through  the  drift  of  the  mottled  and  cheaper  throng 
there  bumped  and  dodged  and  bumped  again  a  man 
who  elsewhere  than  in  a  human  logjam  would  have 
attracted  notice.  Villagers  would  have  honored  him  with 
speculations  as  to  his  identity,  and  the  worthy  post 
master,  boaster  of  unbroken  political  faith  for  forty 
years,  would  have  craned  his  neck  to  get  a  good  sight 
of  him.  Among  this  man's  marks  of  time  was  a  studied 
mildness  which  seemed  to  whisper  the  lie  unto  itself,  a 
look  which,  in  a  way  Americanized,  still  bore  remem 
brance  of  some  half  barbaric  and  smoky  fireside  far 
beyond  the  sea.  Long  wear  had  robbed  his  silk  hat  of 
its  gloss;  the  tails  of  his  frock  coat  hung  far  below  the 
skirt  of  his  cloak,  and  his  waistcoat,  when  the  wind 
exposed  it  to  view,  showed  the  stains  of  food  forked  up 
hastily  from  a  beer-monger's  table. 

Somewhere  in  the  past  a  more  prosperous  day  had 
been  his  heritage.  Adversity  does  not  always  stamp  a 
countenance  with  sorrow;  misfortune  has  sometimes  a 
humorous  trick,  and  sports  with  her  unfavored  child, 
mottling  his  gravity.  Thus  it  was  with  Professor  Hudsic, 
late  of  St.  Petersburg,  and  later,  it  was  said,  from  a 
political  hole  in  the  ground,  the  frozen  bowels  of  Siberia. 
In  Chicago  he  had  lectured  for  the  ' '  cause, ' '  grazing  the 
edges  of  the  law.  One  of  his  meetings  had  been  broken 
up  by  the  police,  and  he  had  been  warned  that  the 
penitentiary  or  even  the  gallows  was  waiting  for  him. 
Then  he  essayed  the  chair  of  English  and  Mathematics 
in  a  night  school,  in  a  slum  district,  and  now,  on  this 
blustery  evening,  he  was  on  his  way  to  attend  a  com 
mittee  meeting  of  an  institution  much  nearer  his  heart, 


THE  AGENTS  OF  JUSTICE  11 

and  of  which  he  was  president,  the  '  *  Agents  of  Justice. ' ' 

Occasionally  a  policeman,  seeming  to  recognize  his 
blackish  beard,  would  look  at  him  as  he  bumped  his 
zigzag  way  through  the  crowd.  In  a  jam  waiting  for  a 
bridge  to  swing  back  into  position  he  was  forced  to  halt, 
and  here  he  stood  with  his  hand  on  a  railing,  worn 
smooth  with  many  a  passing  touch,  and  looked  about 
him  slowly;  at  the  thin  visaged  woman  with  a  package 
held  close  to  her  frail  body,  at  the  impatient  boy,  the 
pale  girl  with  a  wilted  rose  in  her  hand,  at  the  blackened 
teamster  sitting  high  on  his  load  of  coal,  and  at  the  old 
man,  tottering  toward  his  home  not  only  for  the  night 
but  for  the  rest  not  broken  by  the  brazen  bell. 

"  Poor,  ignorant  fools,"  the  professor  mused  as  upon 
each  one  he  bestowed  attention ;  and  then,  professor-like, 
he  revised  his  decision;  "  or  rather,  poor  victims  of  a 
succession  of  fools." 

The  bridge  swung  around.  The  crowd  rushed  for 
ward,  men,  women  and  children  leaping  upon  it  before 
it  settled;  and  when  with  a  jar  the  rusty  socket  was 
found,  the  forward  throng  staggered  as  if  the  earth 
had  quaked.  "  Poor  wretches,  always  in  a  hurry,"  the 
professor  mused,  "  always  impatient  to  reach  the  scene 
of  their  slavery  of  a  morning  and  impatient  at  night  to 
return  to  the  filthy  desolation  they  call  home.  Time  and 
again  they  have  had  opportunity  to  listen,  but  will  time 
ever  endow  them  with  the  spirit  to  act!" 

He  crossed  the  river  and  continued  his  way  for  a 
short  distance,  now  walking  rapidly  through  the  thin 
ning  crowd.  Turning  into  an  almost  deserted  and  ill- 
lighted  street,  he  walked  slowly,  glancing  upward  as  if 
seeking  out  a  number.  Halting  and  for  a  time  looking 
about  him,  he  pushed  open  the  door  of  an  en  try  way  and 
stood  for  a  moment  at  the  bottom  of  a  dimly  lighted 


12  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

stairway.  A  newsboy  came  through  a  side  door  and 
offered  him  a  paper,  the  latest  sporting  edition.  The 
professor  smiled  and  shook  his  head  but  he  gave  the  boy 
a  penny. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  the  paper.  Wait  a  moment;  I 
want  to  talk  to  you.  Do  you  go  to  school  ?  ' ' 

"  Naw.    Have  to  work." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  at  night?  " 

"  Have  to  sleep." 

The  professor  smiled,  the  gas  light  nickering  on  his 
beard.  "  Good  reasons.  But  come  to  the  night  school 
and  I  will  teach  you  something." 

"  How  to  make  money?  " 

The  professor  frowned.  "  Ah,  you  were  born  in  this 
miserable  town." 

"  No,  in  Poland." 

"  How  old  are  you?  " 

"  Twelve  in  the  summer.  Can't  remember  when  I 
come  here." 

"  I  should  hope  not.  But  wouldn't  you  rather  have 
education  —  wouldn't  you  rather  know  a  great  deal 
than  to  have  money  ? ' ' 

The  boy  shook  his  head.  "  My  father  knows  a  heap 
of  things  and  can  read  big  books  covered  with  wood 
and  play  on  the  old  harp  when  we  bring  it  out  of  the 
corner  and  put  it  by  his  chair.  He 's  all  crippled  up  and 
can't  walk.  He  hasn't  any  money,  and  he  says  he'd 
rather  be  dead  than  poor  all  the  time.  Huh,  I  guess  he 
would  —  he  tried  to  kill  himself  with  a  knife,  and  he 
always  says  to  me :  '  You  won 't  never  be  happy  'less  you 
have  money.'  Huh,  when  I'm  a  man  I  ain't  goin'  to  be 
educated  and  crippled  and  poor  and  try  to  kill  myself 
with  a  knife.  I'm  goin'  to  have  money." 

"  You're  a  bright  little  fellow,"  said  the  professor, 


THE  AGENTS  OF  JUSTICE  13 

looking  down  upon  him.  "  And  here  is  another  penny 
to  help  you  on  your  way  toward  wealth.  Wait  a  moment. 
Do  you  know  the  policeman  on  this  beat?  " 

"  Yes.    He's  a  fat  slob." 

"  Good.    German  or  Irish?  " 

"  Mick." 

' '  Not  so  good.  But  is  he  too  fat  to  climb  stairways  — 
three  flights?  " 

"  Gee!  Him?  He  wouldn't  climb  one.  He'd  rather 
ride  in  a  patrol  wagon." 

"  Thank  you  very  much.    You  may  go  now." 

The  boy  darted  out  as  if  released  from  a  trap,  and  the 
professor  heard  his  cry  echoing  down  the  street.  A 
man  came  down  the  stairway,  and  after  a  quick  glance 
at  him  the  professor  stood  aside  to  let  him  pass.  Bits  of 
paper  whirled  in  from  the  sidewalk,  and  somewhere  in 
the  old  building  the  wind  howled  like  a  hound.  The 
professor  began  to  ascend  the  stairs,  scraps  of  paper 
eddying  about  his  feet,  the  hound  howling  louder. 


CHAPTER  II. 
ELECTING    A    MARTYR 

In  a  room  on  the  third  floor  several  members  of  the 
executive  committee  of  the  "Agents  of  Justice  "  had 
come  together,  in  response  to  a  call  from  their  presi 
dent.  Two  rusty  gas  jets  shed  rusty  light.  Through 
the  broken  transom  the  wind  gusts  came  and  sportive 
shadows  played  goblin  on  the  floor.  Near  the  center  of 
the  room  was  a  table,  and  on  it  were  scattered  news 
papers  and  pamphlets,  which,  with  a  half  dozen  chairs, 
some  of  them  crippled,  carried  out  the  appearances  of 
what  a  card  on  the  wall  declared  to  be  the  "  Reading 
Room." 

In  front  of  the  table  Oscar  Henk  and  Otto  Sengle 
walked  up  and  down,  apparently  in  deep  thought,  pass 
ing  each  other  without  speaking;  Henk,  dark,  slender, 
and  aside  from  his  all-night  saloon  eye,  as  evil  a  looking 
rounder  as  ever  pleaded  "  not  guilty."  Sengle  was  a 
sort  of  nondescript  —  you  have  seen  such  a  fellow, 
struggling  to  summon  character  that  would  not  come, 
easily  and  gratefully  forgotten,  an  impotent  snarl  in 
life's  warp.  At  the  table  sat  John  Batterson  and  Emile 
Zenicoif.  Batterson,  a  big  fellow  with  bursting  "  vest  " 
and  greasy  elbows,  had  given  himself  to  many  lines  that 
required  no  labor.  His  street  preaching  text,  "  The 
Brotherhood  of  Man,"  had  attracted  some  little  atten 
tion  —  from  the  police.  One  night  they  called  him  down 
from  his  barrel,  knocked  in  the  head  of  his  rostrum  and 
told  him  to  move  on.  Denied  the  right  of  public  pulpit, 

14 


ELECTING  A  MARTYR  15 

he  betook  himself  to  the  outskirts  and  solicited  old 
clothes,  in  a  low  and  not  unmusical  whine,  having  once 
been  leading  basso  in  a  dive. 

It  was  said  in  print  that  Zenicoff  was  of  good  family. 
This  bit  of  not  over-useful  information  was  brought  out 
at  a  time  when  he  had  been  arrested  for  an  impulsive 
infraction  of  the  law,  hurling  a  brick  at  a  legislative 
candidate  who  in  a  speech  from  the  tail  end  of  a  wagon 
had  declared  that  the  country  was  on  the  high  road 
toward  unprecedented  prosperity.  But  personal  appear 
ance  did  not  cast  Zenicoff  for  the  part.  He  seemed  to  be 
of  timid,  not  to  say  of  shrinking  character,  with  a  solitary 
look,  like  a  sheep  herder.  But  sometimes  he  talked,  and 
when  he  did  you  could  well  believe  that  he  had  hurled 
a  brick.  And  now,  at  the  table  he  and  Batterson  were 
engaged  in  conversation  when  Professor  Hudsic  entered 
the  room.  They  greeted  him  effusively,  and  Henk  and 
Sengle  turned  from  their  walking  up  and  down,  warmly 
to  shake  hands  with  him.  The  professor  waved  each  of 
his  friends  to  a  seat  and  then  sat  down. 

' '  I  am  always  glad  to  meet  you,  my  fearless  brothers, ' ' 
he  said,  leaning  over  and  placing  his  nap-shedding  hat  on 
the  table. 

Batterson  popped  a  slick  button  from  his  swelling 
"  vest  "  and  replied  to  him:  "  We  thank  you  for  the 
compliment,  Mr.  President.  And  permit  me  to  say  that 
we  feel  it  is  deserved,  for  I  believe  that  each  one  of  us 
has  proved  that  he  is  fearless  in  the  cause  of  —  " 

"  Justice,"  suggested  Henk  boldly  enough,  though 
more  than  anyone  else  present  he  had  cause  to  stand  in 
dread  of  an  application  of  the  term. 

"  Justice,"  said  the  professor  with  a  gracious  smile 
that  came  slowly  through  his  beard;  "  I  love  the 
word. ' ' 


16  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Beautiful  word,"  declared  Batterson,  "  and  with  r 
in  mind  I  was  just  explaining  to  Zenicoff  how  easy  ii 
would  be  to  remove  all  oppressors  of  the  people  and  rui 
no  risk  of  discovery." 

Henk  sniffed  like  a  dog.  "  Do  you  get  your  dream: 
out  of  a  short  or  long  stemmed  pipe?  "  Preparing  t< 
light  his  own  pipe  at  the  time  he  struck  a  match,  se 
fire  to  the  tobacco  and  held  up  the  burning  match 
' '  The  way  to  take  life  —  so. "  He  blew  out  the  blazing 
splinter.  "  No  mystery  about  it;  perfectly  plain." 

"And  sometimes,"  said  the  professor,  "  it  is  just  a 
necessary  to  blow  out  a  life  as  a  match,  to  prevent  a  con 
flagration  in  society." 

"  Industrial  society,  yes,"  Sengle  argued  and  Hen! 
looked  at  him  with  a  leer. 

"  Industrial  bosh!  My  idea  is  to  wipe  out  everything 
and  start  new.  The  world  is  too  old;  and  the  only  wai 
to  establish  justice  and  equality  is  to  destroy  and  star 
fresh.  As  to  the  taking  of  a  fellow  off  without  detec 
tion  —  what 's  your  scheme,  Batterson  ?  ' ' 

"  Well,"  Batterson  answered,  looking  from  one  t< 
another  and  then  returning  to  Henk,  "  my  scheme,  a 
you  term  my  discovery,  is  that  I  can  force  the  authori 
ties  to  think  a  man's  death  an  accident.  He  would  bi 
found  with  no  trace  of  poison  about  him,  no  marks  o 
violence." 

For  a  second  Henk's  leer  was  illumined,  promising  t 
end  in  an  inspirational  smile.  "  Oh,  I  see,"  he  said 
' '  you  would  kill  him  with  old  age. ' ' 

Batterson,  the  big  butt  of  small  jokes,  was  here  ! 
victim  of  the  real  or  pretended  laughter  of  all  excep 
Hudsic,  who  gestured  his  impatience.  He  addressee 
Batterson.  "  To  your  point,  if  you  have  one." 

"  My   point  is  that   I   can   kill   a   man   and   not   b 


ELECTING  A  MARTYR  17 

detected,  if  you  insist  upon  bluntness.  I  would  seize 
him  and  hold  him  under  water  till  he  drowns." 

The  others  laughed  and  Hudsic  turned  away.  Bat- 
terson  defended  himself:  "  I  don't  see  anything  so 
funny,  unless  you  want  to  laugh  at  the  truth.  And 
another  good  way  is  to  secrete  a  time  explosive  bomb  in 
your  victim's  automobile." 

Henk  clapped  his  hands.  "  Good,  and  if  he  has  no 
automobile,  buy  him  one  for  the  occasion." 

Sengle  was  ready  with  a  suggestion.  "  And  if  you 
have  resolved  upon  a  reduction  of  expenses  you  might 
induce  him  to  accept  a  motorcycle. ' ' 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  cried  Zenicoff,  breaking  through 
the  environs  of  apparent  timidity.  ' '  To  save  all  expense 
you  might  drop  him  a  post  card,  requesting  him  to  kill 
himself." 

Hudsic  arose  and  stood  looking  down  upon  them.  He 
spoke  and  his  voice  was  deep  with  seriousness.  "  You 
men  have  indeed  become  truly  Americanized,  to  turn 
everything  into  impotent  levity.  Hear  me  a  moment. 
What  we  have  to  discuss  to-night  is  vital  to  our  cause. 
We  have  been  called  together  to  determine  the  best 
means  of  removing  from  the  scene  of  his  brutal  activity 
one  Calvin  Whateley,  capitalist,  mine  owner,  street  rail 
way  magnate  and  general  crusher  of  the  souls  of  men ;  a 
wretch  gifted  with  so  keen  a  sense  of  satanic  or  Ameri 
can  humor  as  to  grow  genial  at  the  sight  of  distress  and 
to  laugh  at  the  wails  of  misery.  It  is  not  that  we  should 
leave  the  world  in  doubt  as  to  the  cause  or  manner  of  his 
taking  off.  That  would  rob  just  vengeance  of  its  moral 
force.  Society  must  know  the  cause  and  the  details  of 
his  death.  And  the  brother  selected  by  us  to  take  his  life 
must  be  willing  himself  to  die  for  the  cause.  Shielding  his 
brothers,  he  must  pay  the  extreme  penalty  of  a  martyr. 


18  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Is  this  plain  to  you  ?  Bo  you  realize  the  deep  portent  of 
this  meeting  ?  Let  me  ask  again :  Is  it  plain  to  you  that 
the  avenger  must  glory  in  his  act  while  shielding  this 
Brotherhood,  the  Agents  of  Justice  ?  ' : 

Everyone  seemed  moved  to  speak,  but  Batterson,  the 
street  preacher,  was  readiest  with  his  answer :  ' '  Yes,  it 
is  clear,  for  we,  the  Agents  of  Justice,  must  be  left  undis 
turbed,  to  bring  about  other  reforms." 

The  professor  smiled  upon  him.  ' '  Batterson,  you  are 
British,  but  your  grasp  is  not  slow.  And  I  have  no 
doubt  that  any  one  of  us  will  be  willing  most  cheerfully 
to  execute  the  commission  —  if  elected,  you  under 
stand." 

"  If  elected,"  several  of  them  agreed,  and  Sengle 
declared:  "  It  will  be  a  great  opportunity  for  some 
one." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  professor,  "  for  some  modern  Naza- 
rene  willing  to  die  for  toiling  man.  The  election  will  be 
by  ballot,  of  course,  and  every  member  is  a  candidate." 

"And  if  he  weakens,"  Henk  found  opportunity  to 
say,  "  he  forfeits  his  own  life  to  us." 

"  Most  assuredly,"  the  professor  declared.  "  But  he 
will  not  falter.  Ah,  our  priestess!  " 

Annie  Zondish  entered  the  room.  When  first  she 
appeared  in  Chicago,  it  was  the  elder  Carter  Harrison 
who  remarked:  "  She  is  a  mere  girl,  but  she  has,  with 
opportunity,  the  making  of  the  most  dangerous  woman 
that  has  ever  set  foot  on  our  shores."  The  years  had 
passed,  and  now  she  was  mature,  boldly  handsome, 
gypsy-like,  sudden  and  swift  in  every  movement.  About 
her  plain  and  meagre  apparel  there  was  but  a  bit  of  red, 
a  bow  at  the  throat,  and  yet,  upon  entering,  she  seemed 
to  have  reddened  the  yellow  light.  Everyone  shook 
hands  with  her,  spoke  in  compliment ;  but  to  flattery  she 


ELECTING  A  MARTYE  19 

gave  no  heeding  ear.  She  tossed  her  hat  upon  the  table 
and  for  a  few  moments  she  stood,  arranging  her  wind- 
tangled  hair.  Then  she  spoke  to  Hudsic : 

"  Do  you  deliberate  with  the  door  unlocked,  leaving 
any  meddler  free  to  walk  in  on  you?  " 

Hudsic  smiled  upon  her,  nor  was  it  a  smile  wholly  of 
gallantry.  In  anarchy  women  may  be  an  achieving 
inspiration  but  to  man  belongs  the  real  executive  power 
of  destruction;  and  in  Hudsic 's  casuistic  "  roundup," 
woman's  wisdom  attained  its  height  when  calling  forth 
the  superior  wisdom  of  man.  "  When  any  meddler  or 
policeman  can  shove  open  a  door  and  walk  in  at  will,  he 
may  know  that  the  deliberations  going  on  are  well 
within  the  law.  But  we  have  not  as  yet  entered  upon 
serious  deliberations.  We  were  waiting  for  others; 
notably  for  you  —  and  for  George  Howerson. " 

"  I  thought  that  George  Howerson  had  come."  She 
spoke  to  the  assembly  rather  than  to  Hudsic.  "  I  met 
him  not  more  than  half  an  hour  ago  and  he  said  he 
would  surely  be  here." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Henk,  "  you  are  acquainted  with 
the  object  of  our  meeting  ?  ' ' 

In  answer  she  addressed  herself  to  the  professor.  ' '  I 
ought  to,  since  I  inspired  it." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  professor  spoke  up.  "  It  was  so 
momentous  a  step  that  I  hesitated,  but  she  has  convinced 
me  that  it  must  be  taken." 

' '  Then  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  we  ought  at  once  to 
get  down  to  progressive  discussion.  But  I  wish  all  the 
brothers  were  here." 

"  Only  Howerson —  "  began  Batterson. 

•"An  American  failure,"  Henk  interrupted. 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Annie  meaningly,  ' '  the  only  real  Ameri- 
•*an  here.  He  removes  that  stigma  from  our  cause.  His 


20  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

people  have  for  generations  lived  in  this  country.  The 
newspapers  and  the  pulpit  cannot  brand  him  as  a  crank 
of  foreign  birth.  His  election,  of  all  of  us,  I  should  hail 
with  joy." 

"  Shall  we  wait?  "  queried  Hudsic  gravely. 

"  It  will  not  be  necessary,"  came  the  imperious 
rejoinder.  "  He  will  abide  by  our  decision." 

Here  Henk  interposed  with  a  leer.  "  Why  not  elect 
him  by  acclamation,  Queen  of  Vengeance  ?  ' ; 

"  Each  must  take  his  chance,"  replied  Annie  coldly. 

"  No  one  must  throw  away  his  chance  rather," 
amended  Hudsic.  "  For  the  Brotherhood,  for  mankind 
—  for  himself  —  a  glorious  opportunity !  To  write  in 
one  glowing  stroke  his  name  on  the  enduring  scroll  of 
fame,  to  seize  one  burning  moment  of  immortality  —  ' ' 

"  A  flight  worthy  of  Howerson  himself,"  Batterson 
avowed.  "  We  vote  how?  " 

"  By  nomination  of  the  worthy  ones,  by  election  of 
the  one  most  deserving —  " 

"  By  lot,"  declared  Annie  with  an  air  of  finality. 
' '  There  must  be  no  unselfish  shirking  of  —  opportunity. 
This  is  our  first  open  assertion  of  our  cause  —  first 
in  action  —  and  there  must  be  no  slip.  Fate  has  pointed 
out  the  first  to  feel  our  condemnation ;  fate  must  choose 
the  instrument.  A  card  for  every  member ;  one  with  the 
word  '  Justice  '  written  on  it.  We  shall  each  draw  —  ' ' 

' '  Each  ?  ' '  half  sneered  Henk,  turning  first  to  Hudsic 
and  then  back  to  Annie. 

"  Each,"  Annie  said  simply.  "  I  will  draw  first  — 
you  next,  Henk."  His  face  went  chalky. 

There  was  a  rattle  at  the  door.  "  Who's  there?  " 
called  Batterson.  "  Howerson?  " 

"  Fool?  "  snarled  Hudsic.  "  Save  names  for  your 
street  preaching."" 


ELECTING  A  MARTYR  21 

' '  Me  —  Moy, ' '  came  from  outside  the  door. 

"  The  Chink,"  breathed  Henk,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
The  door  opened  and  a  grinning  Chinaman  came  in.  He 
bore  a  clothes  basket  of  great  size,  piled  high  with  wash 
ings.  He  set  it  down  impassively,  and  turned  to  the 
group  with  an  air  of  apology. 

"  Me  late,"  he  ventured.  "  Heap  clowd.  Allee  time 
no  gettee  thlough.  Big  cop  —  big  machine  —  gettee  man 
lun  ove'.  Allee  same  no  see.  I  no  can  hurree, "  he  fin 
ished,  his  English  becoming  clearer  as  he  proceeded. 

"  Just  in  time,  Moy,"  Batterson  the  irrepressible 
vouchsafed.  ' '  We  are  about  to  draw  lots. ' ' 

"  No!  "  came  from  Annie  Zondish  and  Hudsic  at 
once. 

' '  He  is  '  set  aside, '  ' '  she  added  with  finality,  using  a 
cant  phrase  of  their  own. 

The  cards  were  prepared.  With  a  flourish  Hudsic 
inscribed  one  with  "  Justice,"  unlike  the  current  like 
ness,  rich  with  ornamentation.  Hudsic  brought  forth 
his  silk  hat,  the  cards  were  thrown  in  and  he  gave  them 
a  shake  that  shuffled  the  pack. 

"  Will  you  draw?  "  he  asked,  holding  the  hat  high 
before  Annie  Zondish. 

"  Why  not  wait  for  Howerson?  "  Henk  wanted  to 
know. 

"  Why?  "  asked  Annie  scornfully.  "  Why?  Because 
he  will  ask  nothing  better  than  to  be  chosen.  I  know 
that  he  does  not  care  to  live.  I  know  that  he  has  tried 
to  throw  away  his  life  as  a  thing  no  longer  of  any  worth 
to  him.  I  know  that  he  is  not  only  determined  but  des 
perate.  He  is  one  of  America's  over-educated  failures. 
He  was  bred  to  the  law  and  failed  because  he  was  a  poet, 
and  then  he  failed  as  a  poet  because  he  was  a  lawyer. 
But  being  a  poet  with  a  good  share  of  —  what  shall  I 


22  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON       „ 

say?  Ah,  a  generous  share  of  loud-sounding  blank 
verse  in  his  nature,  he  will  gladly  give  his  life  for  a 
cause.  I  will  draw  first  for  myself  and  then  for  him. 
Your  hat,  Hudsic." 

But  even  as  Hudsic  extended  his  arm,  he  paused. 
There  was  a  stumbling  noise  on  the  stairway,  then  down 
the  long  hall.  A  body  lurched  heavily  against  the  door. 
The  Agents  eyed  one  another.  "  Howerson,"  ventured 
one,  "  Drunk,"  said  another,  yet  without  curiosity  or 
surprise.  It  was  Annie  Zondish  who  sprang  to  the  door. 
It  flew  open  and  a  man  reeled  into  the  room  and  fell  on 
the  floor. 

"  You!  "  gasped  Annie ;  "  this  of  all  nights !  "  Then 
a  sudden  pity  came  over  her  and  she  stooped  to  the  pros 
trate  man.  "  He's  hurt,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Here! 
help  me  raise  him!  " 

.  "  Hurt?  "  groaned  Howerson.  "  Only  my  rage  at 
the  manner  of  it  kept  me  on  my  way.  I  have  been  struck 
by  an  automobile  —  a  big  red  car  with  dragon  eyes 
that  blinded  me,  a  hellion  driver  who  rode  me  down  like 
a  hare  at  a  hunt,  a  heartless  wretch  in  the  back  seat  who 
spurned  me  contemptuously  with  his  wheels  —  ' ' 

"  I  know,"  said  Moy  softly. 

"  There  was  an  old  man  —  he  sold  pencils  on  the 
corner.  He  was  almost  under  the  wheels,  and  I  dragged 
him  out.  The  chauffeur  saw  us.  I  swear  he  laughed  — 
the  demon.  And  I  —  I  —  over  my  prostrate  body  he 
plunged  that  snorting  chariot  of  fire.  I  saw  red  that 
minute.  I  could  have  killed —  " 

"  What?  "  asked  Hudsic  quickly.  "  A  man?  —  or  the 
representative  of  a  class?  " 

; '  I  detest  the  whole  damned  tribe  —  but  him  most. 
Fur-coated,  pampered, —  selfish  greed  and  brutal  ego 
tism  are  his  marks.  He  is  fattened  on  the  carcasses  of 


ELECTING  A  MARTYR  23 

starving  humans  and  grown  rich  on  the  blood  of  children 
yet  unborn.  Over  the  crushed  bodies  of  his  yet-quiver 
ing  victims  he  relentlessly  urges  the  car  of  his  money- 
mad  greed."  He  staggered  to  his  feet.  "He  is  the 
Goliath  of  them  all." 

' '  The  Lord  will  raise  up  a  David, ' '  quoted  Batterson, 
casting  a  significant  glance  at  Hudsic.  Howerson  fol 
lowed  the  glance,  and  stared  in  mystification. 

"  What—  "he  began. 

"  We  are  going  to  act,"  nodded  Hudsic.  "  Justice 
will  drop  her  scales  and  take  up  her  sword.  She  may 
be  blindfolded,  but  she  is  not  deaf;  the  cries  of  ravaged 
innocence,  of  outraged  toil,  of  unprotected  honesty, 
demand  atonement  —  blood  atonement!  There  is  one 
who  in  himself  comprises  all  our  Cause  abhors  —  he  is 
marked  for  removal.  His  crimes  cry  to  high  heaven ;  we 
have  heard  humanity's  call  for  vengeance  upon  him. 
Distinguished  brother  —  ' ' 

"  Distinguished  —  and  by  these  seams  and  tatters! 
Conspicuous  at  least.  What  has  been  done.  You  were 
about  to  —  " 

Hudsic  smiled  upon  him.  "  Brother,  we  were  about 
to  elect  one  of  our  brave  number  to  —  " 

."Eternal  fame!'"  Annie  broke  in.  "Fate  lies 
within."  She  pointed  to  Hudsic 's  hat.  "  By  lot  shall 
the  fortunate  one  be  chosen.  We  were  about  to  draw. 
Shall  we  proceed?  " 

"  Proceed,"  came  from  Hudsic. 

"  First,"  interposed  Howerson,  "  who  is  the  one  to 
feel  the  avenging  hand  of  the  Brotherhood  ?  Who  is  this 
outrager  of  humanity?  " 

"  Of  them  all  he  is  the  deepest-dyed.  He  most  richly 
merits  death.  His  removal  means  the  most  to  our  Cause 
—  to  the  world's  progress.  It  is  Calvin  Whateley." 


24  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

•'  What?  "  cried  Howerson,  starting.  "  But  —  but  — 
that  can't  be." 

"  Can't  be  what?  "  came  in  chorus. 

"  The  man  who  sat  in  the  car  that  rode  me  down  was 
named  Whateley." 

"  It  is  the  same,"  Annie  Zondish  asserted  gravely. 

"  Allee  same,"  Moy  repeated,  then  shrank  back  into 
inconspicuousness  as  he  encountered  the  curious  glances 
of  the  Brothers.  Howerson  turned  to  Hudsic. 

"  What  right  has  this  heathen  here?"  he  demanded. 
Hudsic  placed  a  protecting  hand  on  the  Celestial's 
shoulder. 

"  He  is  one  of  our  brothers,  Mr.  Howerson,  and  one 
day  we  shall  hear  the  name  of  Chi  Moy  cried  out  in 
the  streets  of  the  world.  On  his  faithfulness  to  the 
cause  I  would  stake  my  life.  Years  ago,  our  brave  fore 
runners  who  now  sleep  in  beloved  graves,  blew  oppres 
sion  to  atoms  in  the  Haymarket,  and  singing  '  Annie 
Laurie  '  stepped  forward  to  gaze  undaunted  into  the 
hollow  eye  of  death.  Our  yellow  brother  would  do  the 
same. ' ' 

Moy  merely  nodded  his  head,  but  his  narrow  eyes 
were  gleaming.  There  was  a  long  pause.  Then  he 
spoke.  "  Me  —  I  see  him,  Mr.  Whateley,  in  car.  No  see 
Mr.  Howerson,  but  know  an  accident  been  done.  Him 
Calvin  Whateley  —  same  die !  ' ' 

"  Good!  "  exclaimed  Howerson.  "  You  were  draw 
ing  lots  to  see  who  should  be  privileged  to  rid  the  earth 
of  such  a  reptile?  A  favor  I  crave,"  he  declaimed 
theatrically.  "  I  ask  the  Brotherhood  to  allow  me  first 
to  try  my  fortune.  It  is  granted?  "  His  eyes,  now 
bright  with  excitement,  swept  the  circle  of  eager  faces. 
They  paused  at  Annie  Zondish.  A  flush  came  to  her 
face,  and  added  lustre  to  her  eyes  as  she  gave  him  a 


ELECTING  A  MARTYR  25 

smile  that  brought  a  wondering  "Ah!  "  from  Hudsic. 

"  It  is  granted, ' '  she  said  at  length. 

Hudsic  seized  the  hat  and  held  it  high  above  his  head. 
Howerson  advanced  and  reached  up  his  hand.  For  an 
unaccountably  long  interval  he  groped  about.  Then  his 
hand  reappeared,  clenched.  With  a  broken  laugh  he 
threw  it  open. 

Down  upon  the  uncarpeted  floor  swept  a  flutter  of 
white  cards  —  the  whole  pack.  One  fell  at  the  feet  of 
Annie  Zondish.  With  an  exultant  cry  she  caught  it  up. 

"  Justice!  "  she  cried.    "  Justice!  " 

Howerson  made  her  a  sweeping  bow.  "  I  salute  its 
queen !  I  tried  hard  to  love  the  world,  and  it  kicked  me 
as  I  knelt  at  its  feet.  Through  its  favored  ones  it 
spurned  me  when  I  asked  only  for  life.  Now,  I  hate  the 
world,  and  the  central  object  of  my  venom  is  Calvin 
Whateley.  For  all  he  has  done  —  for  all  others  have 
done  in  his  name  —  for  all  that  the  world  has  done  me 
and  my  kind  through  him  and  his  kind,  my  blood  calls 
out  for—  '  his  voice  rang  out  — "  for  blood.  I  will 
kill  him!  " 


CHAPTER  in. 
THE  OLD  MR.  HOWERSON 

It  is  not  easy  to  get  at  the  cause  of  the  success  of  one 
man  and  the  failure  of  another,  when  both  seem  to  be 
equally  equipped,  and  appear  to  employ  the  same 
methods.  "  The  man  who  does  not  make  it  an  object  to 
save  money  never  does  nor  can  do  anything  notable," 
says  the  Scotch  master  of  steel,  and  you  might  tell  him 
and  other  commanders  of  commercial  strife  that  such  a 
belief  is  a  soul-dwarfing  fallacy;  you  might  speak  the 
truth  that  the  world  owes  its  real  progress  to  men  who 
had  not  the  temperament  nor  the  time  to  hoard  money ; 
you  might  instance  the  fact  that  genius,  poor  as  to 
money,  has  made  it  possible  for  Carnegies  and  Rocke 
fellers  to  become  powerful.  You  might  do  this  in  verity 
unalloyed  and  the  average  plodder  seeking  to  keep  his 
footing  in  the  rough  highway  of  life  would  laugh  at  you. 
A  man,  however,  may  be  incapable  of  making  money,  of 
making  a  living,  of  fixing  in  paint  a  visual  mood  of 
nature,  of  evoking  an  opera  from  the  bosom  of  the  air, 
of  harpooning  a  thought  with  a  pen.  Then  must  he 
indeed  be  an  incompetent,  and  such  a  failure  George 
Howerson  accounted  himself. 

His  sister  Pauline  had  broken  the  Puritan  hearts  of 
father  and  mother,  defied  their  authority  and  run  away 
to  comic  opera.  In  London  her  beauty  caught  a  dis 
solute  title  and  she  was  blazed  with  pedigreed  diamonds, 
which  she  had  to  surrender  when  a  divorce  had  been 
decreed.  Back  to  the  footlights,  and  then  she  married  a 

26 


THE  OLD  MR.  HOWERSON  27 

sword,  went  to  India,  and  a  few  years  later  when  father 
and  mother  had  passed  away,  she  wrote  to  her  brother 
George  a  letter  in  which  were  these  words : 

"  They  tell  me  that  I  have  but  little  longer  to  live, 
and  I  said  to  them,  '  No  flattery,  please.'  I  have  done 
what  ?  Followed  my  temperament.  Where  did  I  get  it  ? 
A  reaction  from  generations  of  contempt  for  all  art. 
But  to  you  who  love  me  I  will  say  that  I  have  not  been 

very  bad I   am  grieved,   dear   George,   when  you 

assure  me  of  your  continuous  failure.  The  poem  you 
sent  me  is  full  of  heroic  fire,  and  I  can't  understand  why 
the  magazines  won 't  take  it.  But  this  is  not  a  heroic  age. 
I  would  say  '  have  patience, '  but  in  your  blood  and  mine 
there  is  but  little  of  that  Christian  quality.  Our  poor 
father,  God  bless  his  memory,  preached  his  simple  gospel 
year  after  year,  always  in  little  churches,  and  mostly  to 
women  who  pecked  the  life  out  of  our  poor  mother.  But 
it  was  I  who  broke  their  hearts.  Would  it  be  virtuous  to 
say,  '  I  wish  I  had  lived  a  kitchen  maid  '  ?  Perhaps  so, 
but  I  am  not  that  virtuous.  George,  the  fact  that  you 
would  not  permit  me  to  help  you  at  the  time  of  my  pros 
perity  proves  that  you  have  some  strength  of  character. 
Then  why  don't  you  compel  success?  I  intend  no 
reproach,  but  you  must  remember  that  the  family 
resources  were  drained  to  educate  you.  They  '  degreed  ' 
you  at  Ann  Arbor  and  '  lawed  '  you  at  Harvard,  because 
it  would  sound  big,  while  I  was  '  graced  '  by  prudish  old 
maids  who  were  afterwards  horrified  to  know  that  my 
voice  had  an  ambition  beyond  Sunday  morning  anthems. 
George,  it  is  better  to  be  dead  than  a  failure." 

Not  long  afterward  the  press  dispatches  spurted  the 
news  of  her  death,  and  the  newspapers  printed  a  picture 


28  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

of  her  as  she  had  appeared  in  a  fluff  of  comic  skirts,  the 
companion  of  an  ugly  bulldog,  his  head  on  her  shoulder. 
The  insult  of  this  picture  was  fresh  in  George  Hower- 
son  's  mind ;  a  shivering  newsboy  on  the  corner  still  held 
it  under  his  arm.  ' '  '  Better  to  be  dead  than  a  failure, '  ' 
he  mused,  quoting  his  sister's  letter  on  his  way  to  meet 
the  Agents  of  Justice.  For  a  long  time  the  spirit  of 
failure  had  seemed  slowly  to  creep  in  his  blood,  like  a 
disease,  seeking  the  weakest  spot ;  and  yet  he  had  striven 
hard,  with  study,  with  self-denial.  *"But  study  and  denial 
are  not  within  themselves  constructive.  An  extravagant 
blunderer  may  create  while  studious  economy  sighs  out 
its  impotent  breath. 

Tall,  straight,  strong,  black-haired  and  brown-eyed  he 
was,  an  athlete  grown  stale,  a  man  who  evidently  had 
banished  thought  and  had  given  himself  to  brooding. 
Without  having  acquired  appetite  for  drink,  he  was  not 
always  sober.  Failure  drinks  fat  on  beer,  digs  deeper  a 
depth  of  melancholy,  floats  off  a  mind  into  sour  vats  of 
stagnant  speech.  Howerson  had  made  his  hard  luck 
recital  eloquent  with  alcoholic  fervor,  and  then  rendered 
it  appealing  with  physical  remorse,  thus  endearing  him 
self  to  the  Agents  of  Justice,  who,  ducking  into 
many  places  to  avoid  work,  found  many  a  drink  coming 
their  way. 

When  Annie  Zondish  declared  Howerson  to  be 
afflicted  with  epitonic  blank  verse,  she  had  struck  one 
of  the  notes  of  his  character.  When  a  youngster  he 
had  stolen  from  home  one  night,  tramped  three  miles 
with  the  hired  man  and  had  seen  John  McCullough 
play  the  Gladiator,  and  afterward  had  played  it  himself 
in  the  barn;  and  since  that  time  he  dragged  on  his  toes 
in  fancy's  barn,  never  practical,  always  striving  for 
something  he  could  not  attain.  It  was  natural  for  one 


THE  OLD  MR.  HOWERSON  29 

of  his  early  friends  to  remark,  "  I  guess  George  is  a 
little  off. ' '  In  time  lie  tried  the  stage  —  tried  it  sorely, 
some  of  his  audiences  may  have  thought.  Failure  cries 
out  for  consolation,  and  in  this  instance  the  balm  was 
in  the  reflection  that  the  day  for  real  acting  had  passed. 

"  I  '11  strike  my  gait  one  of  these  days, ' '  he  often  said. 
"  Every  young  fellow  not  a  born  plodder  must  experi 
ment  with  himself  until  he  finds  out  what  he's  best 
fitted  for.  A  man  may  dig  energy  up  out  of  himself, 
but  all  the  energy  that  Grant  could  have  dug  up  in  a 
hundred  years  wouldn't  have  made  him.  His  comple 
tion  required  the  opportunity  of  war." 

Such  reflections  were  consoling  enough,  but  required 
to  do  service  year  after  year,  they  sickened,  lingered  as 
incurables  and  then  died.  Even  then  he  was  loath  to 
attribute  his  ills-  to  a  'weakness  dominant  in  himself. 
The  world  is  always  wrong,  individual  man  right;  and 
fate,  a  clown  posing  as  a  grim  Nemesis,  laughs  at  the 
outcome.  And  of  late  the  laughter,  so  far  as  it  was 
inspired  by  Howerson,  must  have  been  boisterous,  for  the 
poet,  pentameter  protagonist,  Blackstonian  blabber,  gave 
promise  of  a  red-fire  climax. 

Now,  stretching  out  tragedy-hungry  hands  to  his 
meager  audience,  again  he  declaimed  loudly:  "  I  will 
kill  him!  " 

Each  one  looked  toward  the  door  as  if  the  elected 
avenger  had  been  too  loud,  and  upon  Howerson,  Hudsic 
smiled  a  gentle  admonition:  "  Say  rather  that  you  will 
remove  him.  To  kill  sounds  harsh." 

But  the  avenger  did  not  accept  the  amendment.  "  I 
like  the  word  kill,"  he  said.  "It  implies  action,  strength, 
determination.  And  to  confer  upon  me  the  office  of 
carrying  the  word  to  just  and  complete  action  is  a 


30  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

compliment  to  one  whose  modesty  declares  ' '  —  and  here 
he  bowed  low,  with  his  shabby  hat  in  his  hand  — ' '  one 
whose  self -modesty  declares  him  to  be  undeserving." 

Annie  addressed  herself  to  Howerson:  "  Of  all  these 
men  willing  to  die  you  are  the  most  willing.  You  have 
striven  hardest  to  achieve  distinction  among  your  fel 
low  Americans,  and  therefore  your  failure,  no  fault  of 
your  own,  is  the  bitterest.  The  system  under  which  we 
live  has  been  harder  upon  you  than  it  could  be  on 
the  rest  of  us,  when  it  should  have  been  kinder,  for 
your  fathers  shed  their  blood  to  bring  it  about.  Your 
nature  is  of  the  purple,  but  they  have  compelled  you 
to  wear  the  somberest  of  rags." 

Howerson  turned  about  and  for  a  time  walked  up  and 
down  slowly,  in  subdued  and  heroic  measure.  Then 
he  grasped  Annie  by  the  arm.  ''  Ah,  it  is  because  you 
know  that  I  tried  to  end  my  existence.  You  found  me 
in  a  miserable  charity  hospital,  suffering  from  poison." 
Then  he  brightened  perforce.  "  But  you  gave  me  one 
more  hope-*- to  die  for  a  purpose,  a  cause.  Now  you. 
present  to  me  that  opportunity.  I  await  instructions." 

Annie,  her  eyes  beaming  upon  him,  called  him  her 
dear  brother  and  sprang  to  him  and  would  have  put 
her  arms  about  his  neck  but  he  caught  her  by  the  wrists, 
not  ungently,  and  held  her,  looking  into  her  eyes. 

'  You  are  acquainted  with  the  real  character  of 
Calvin  Whateley  ?  ' '  said  Hudsic,  more  out  of  a  desire  to 
dissolve  a  tableau  than  to  acquire  information;  and 
releasing  the  woman's  wrists,  Howerson  turned  toward 
him,  his  countenance  bright  with  the  inspiration  of  a 
picture  alive  and  vivid  in  his  mind.  "  Acquainted  with 
his  character !  Is  a  man  gazing  upon  an  epileptic  fallen 
in  the  street  acquainted  with  contortion?  Acquainted 
with  Whateley 's  character?  Listen." 


THE  OLD  MR.  HOWERSON  31 

"  We  are  listening,"  said  Hudsic,  "  but  I  don't  like 
your  interjection  '  listen,'  a  word  that  Gypsy  Smith 
and  his  co-revivalists  urge  to  the  brink  of  offense." 

"  Pardon  the  offense,"  Howerson  replied.  "  Your 
rebuke  is  just.  And  now  as  to  Whateley  —  a  man  who 
looks  upon  misfortune  with  contempt,  one  who  regards 
honest  toil  as  a  sentence  imposed  by  avenging  justice. 
Driven  by  him  to  suicide,  poor  wretches  in  last  agony 
have  frothed  his  name.  Once  during  a  strike  among 
his  men,  they  sought  to  stop  him  as  he  drove  in 
his  carriage,  to  talk  to  him;  and  he  snatched  the 
coachman's  whip  and  laid  the  lash  over  their  thin-clad 
shoulders;  and  young  collegians  on  the  slippery  front 
steps  of  journalism  wrote  it  down  as  a  heroic  act  — 
wrote  it  for  disgraceful  bread.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  his 
character. ' ' 

"  Oh,  does  he  not  know?  "  Annie  Zondish  cried. 
"  And,  Oh,  my  brothers,  have  we  not  chosen  wisely? 
Has  not  the  true  spirit  been  educated  into  him?  Has 
not  destiny  marked  upon  him  the  sign  of  the  cross? 
Brothers,  you  have  called  me  your  priestess,  your  inspi 
ration.  Then  bear  with  me  a  few  moments  and  take 
note  of  what  I  now  shall  say:  Kings,  presidents,  rulers 
are  institutions.  Remove  one  and  another  takes  his 
place.  But  capitalists,  oppressive  millionaires,  are  indi 
viduals.  Remove  one  and  his  peculiar  place  cannot  be 
filled,  for  no  two  individuals  are  alike." 

"  Very  true,"  Hudsic  agreed.  "  And  now  from  gen 
eral  truths  let  us  get  down  to  specifications  —  to  the 
best  method  of  removing  Calvin  Whateley.  We  know 
that  of  late  he  has  become  careful,  has  policemen  in  his 
dooryard  and  in  the  corridors  leading  to  his  office;  but 
it  is  necessary  that  our  Brother  Howerson  should  gain 
admittance  to  his  place  of  business  and  —  ' ' 


32  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

' '  And  kill  him  on  the  throne  of  his  iniquitous  power, ' ' 
Howerson  burst  in,  with  swell  of  chest;  and  for  a 
moment  his  shabby  coat  gathered  in  some  semblance 
of  a  close  fit,  a  coat  plucked  by  Batterson  in  the  suburbs 
and  contributed  to  the  cause.  Batterson  cried  out, 
"  Brave  words,  brother!  "  and  Hudsic  said,  "  Pre 
cisely,"  and  then  continued: 

"  And  now  the  question  is,  how,  without  exciting  sus 
picion,  can  our  brother  gain  admittance  ?  To  go  dressed 
as  he  is  now  would  be  foolish.  He  must  go  exquisitely 
garbed,  the  very  mark  of  fashion." 

The  brothers  showed  astonishment.  Howerson  laughed 
bitterly.  "  Chesterfieldian  philosopher,"  he  said,  "  come 
out  of  your  speculative  dream.  I  go  as  a  fashion  plate 
when  I  can  scarcely  dress  well  enough  to  apply  for  a 
job  in  a  ditch?  " 

"  But  that  is  to  be  remedied,"  said  Hudsic,  and  he 
smiled  upon  the  woman  who  stood  smiling  upon  him. 
'  With  our  present  aim  in  view  and  with  an  industry 
which  the  most  of  us  might  well  emulate,  our  sister 
has  collected  a  sum  of  money  quite  sufficient  for  our 
purposes.  And  we  shall  exploit  you  as  a  gentleman, 
Brother  Howerson." 

"  Gentleman,"  repeated  the  poet,  the  actor.  "  What 
a  masquerade!  " 

Annie  shook  her  head.  ' '  No,  not  a  masquerade,  brave 
brother,  for  I  can  see  you  now  as  you  shall  be,  hand 
some  and  flashing." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hudsic,  "  and  to  see  you  as  we  shall 
send  you  will  be  to  admit  you  without  question.  And 
remember  that  you  go  as  an  '  Agent  of  Justice,'  not 
from  a  society  of  low  and  brutal  ignorance  but  from 
a  brotherhood  of  educated  men  who  have  seen  the  world. 


THE  OLD  MR.  HOWERSON  33 

.  .  .  Our  sister,  will  you  please  administer  the 
oath?  " 

With  a  bow  Howerson  turned  to  her,  and  every  one 
stood  in  solemn  mien,  the  avenger  with  his  almost  crown- 
less  hat  in  his  hand.  Annie  bade  him  raise  his  right 
hand,  and  up  the  tattered  hat  went  with  it,  and  shook  in 
the  air,  emblem  of  his  poverty.  Annie  began  to  speak, 
her  voice  unsteady,  her  lips  trembling.  "  Do  you  swear 
by  all  you  hold  sacred. to  kill  Calvin  Whateley?  " 

"  I  swear  by  all  that  I  hold  sacred." 

' '  Do  you  swear  that  nothing  shall  turn  you  aside  from 
your  purpose,  and  that  you  will,  if  needs  be,  go  to  the 
scaffold  as  an  '  Agent  of  Justice,'  silent  as  to  the  other 
members  of  the  Brotherhood?  " 

M  I   swear." 

"  And  do  you  swear  that  if  you  falter  you  will  give 
over  your  life  to  the  Brotherhood  to  be  disposed  of  with 
out  question?  " 

"  I  swear." 

Down  upon  the  floor  fell  the  tattered  hat.  Annie 
grasped  the  oath-taker's  hand,  and  in  turn  they  all  of 
them  grasped  it ;  and  the  woman  caught  up  the  hat 
from  the  floor  and  set  it  upon  his  head  as  a  crown; 
and  he  stood  there  pale  in  the  yellow  light. 

The  meeting  stood  adjourned.  The  woman  was  the 
first  to  go,  then  silently  the  men  took  their  departure. 
On  the  stairway  Hudsic  said  to  Howerson :  ' '  Come  with 
me  to  my  lodgings  and  get  the  money." 

On  a  corner  not  far  away,  Annie  stood  in  the  wind 
and  the  sharp  sleet.  She  turned  about  as  the  two  men 
approached  and  said  to  Howerson :  ' '  When  I  meet  you 
again  you  will  not  be  unknown.  When  I  meet  you —  " 


34  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  In   prison,"    Howerson   suggested. 

' '  Yes,  in  prison  —  the  walls  will  be  radiant  like  a 
fairy 's  palace.  Once  more,  good  night. ' ' 

She  seized  his  hand,  pressed  it  hard  against  her  bosom, 
and  then,  catching  her  shawl  up  about  her  head,  she 
ran  across  the  street.  For  a  time  Hudsic  and  Howerson 
walked  along  in  silence,  bowed  forward  against  the  sting 
ing  gale,  the  professor  showing  inclination  to  avoid  the 
light  falling  from  street  lamps  and  flooding  out  from 
hilarious  brothels. 

"  Annie  ran  to  get  away  quickly,  and  now  you  are 
afraid  to  be  seen  with  me,"  said  Howerson,  almost  bit 
terly.-  "  My  fame's  growing  fast." 

Hudsie  coughed  and  was  ready  with  his  reply:  "  It 
is  not  from  physical  but  moral  precaution,  for  the  pro 
tection  of  the  Brotherhood.  Our  institution  ought  not  to 
be  wiped  out  in  its  infancy."  He  took  hold  of  How 
erson 's  arm. 

"  You  are  right,"  admitted  the  avenger  elect.  "  But 
for  a  moment  I  seemed  to  have  felt  a  slap,  and  I  spoke 
while  my  ears  were  ringing.  It's  all  right.  Let  us 
avoid  the  lights  and  not  mention  it  again." 

Hudsic 's  room  was  up  two  flights  in  a  thin- walled 
structure  put  up  in  a  rush  after  the  great  fire.  It  had 
been  condemned  time  and  again  but  upon  each  occa 
sion  action  was  deferred  by  the  discovery  that  its  owner 
was  one  of  the  political  bosses  of  the  ward.  It  was 
tenanted  by  poverty.  In  its  passageways  was  heard  the 
scuff  of  the  down-and-outer 's  old  shoe,  and  on  the  stairs 
was  met  the  ghostlike  girl  with  the  beer  pail ;  and  always 
from  somewhere  within  those  grim  and  rotting  recesses 
came  the  wailing  of  a  child. 

Hudsic  unlocked  his  door ;  Howerson  holding  a  lighted 
match  for  him,  opened  it.  Thus  uncorked,  there  poured 


THE  OLD  MR.  HOWERSON  35 

forth  a  worse  than  kennel  smell.  Hudsic  lighted  his 
lamp  and  invited  his  guest  to  a  chair,  an  old  rocker  with 
rheumatic  joints.  Hudsic  sat  down  near  a  table  spread 
with  a  faded  cloth,  once  pictured  with  East  Indians 
bringing  in  a  captive  tiger;  and  resting  on  his  elbow 
gave  himself  to  silence  while  Howerson  looked  slowly 
about  him,  at  a  shelf  containing  a  few  books,  at  the  por 
trait  of  a  whiskered  Russian,  at  an  old  trunk  gleaming 
with  brass  nails.  In  a  corner  was  a  couch  whereon  the 
professor  dreamed  his  dreams  of  the  brotherhood  of 
all  men,  in  another  corner  an  oil  stove,  altar  of  garlic, 
onions  and  a  certain  sort  of  beef-liver  stew,  the  whole 
when  in  full  power  capable  of  penetrating  walls  that 
had  never  been  condemned. 

Howerson  broke  the  garlic  silence.  "  I  don't  wish 
to  keep  you  up,  Professor,  and  if  you  will  —  give  me  the 
—  er  —  appropriated  fund,  1 11  bid  you  good  night. ' ' 

With  a  slight  jerk  of  elbow  Hudsic  came  out  of  his 
reverie  to  say  that  there  was  no  need  for  haste,  that 
he  had  a  few  ideas  which  he  wished  to  communicate, 
"  concerning  your  arrangements,"  he  said.  "  Let  me 
see.  This  is  Thursday  and  you  — 

"  Ought  to  be  locked  up  by  Friday  noon,"  Howerson 
supplied. 

"  Yes,  easily,"  Hudsic  assented.  "  To-morrow  you 
can  go  to  one  of  the  big  department  stores  and  have 
yourself  fitted  out.  It  is  not  wise  to  wait  for  a  tailor 
to  make  your  clothes.  You'll  be  easy  to  fit.  Dear  me, 
but  you  are  a  fine  specimen ;  ancestry  expressing  itself. 
How  tall  are  you?  " 

"  Six-three." 

"  Away  out  of  the  ordinary,  but  in  this  town  of  big 
men  they  ought  to  fit  you  easily  enough.  The  house 
tailor  can  very  soon  make  any  needed  alteration.  Now, 


36  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

a  bit  of  advice:  You  can  get  your  outfit  and  pistol  for 
sixty  dollars  at  most.  Dress  yourself,  silk  hat,  gloves 
and  all  before  you  buy  the  pistol.  It  will  not  be  well 
when  they  search  you  to  find  you  broke,  or  the  possessor 
of  only  one  shirt.  Buy  a  suitcase,  put  several  shirts 
into  it  and  take  it  with  you  to  his  place  of  business; 
you  can  leave  it  down  below.  Other  details  I  leave  to 
you.  Have  you  any  idea  as  to  the  sum  of  money  our 
sister  succeeded  in  raising?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  Howerson  answered,  rocking 
slowly. 

"  One  hundred  dollars." 

' '  What !  You  astonish  me. ' ' 

' '  So  did  she  me.  And  she  tells  me  that  it  did  not  take 
her  long,  in  the  garb  of  a  Salvation  lass.  She  did  not 
go  into  saloons  for  the  dimes  of  the  drunkard  and  the 
superstitious,  but  struck  higher  places,  the  breweries. 
One  old  paunch,  dying  of  submerged  kidney,  gave  her 
forty  dollars." 

"  And  she  trusted  you  with  all  that  money?  " 

The  professor  made  a  noise  like  a  man  in  a  barber's 
chair  blowing  at  a  fly  on  his  nose. ' '  Why,  er  —  assuredly. 
She  knows  that  I  am  honest. ' ' 

"  And  she  knows,  too,  that  she  would  kill  you  if 
you  misappropriated  the  fund." 

"  As  readily,"  agreed  Hudsic,  "  as  she  will  assassi 
nate  you  if  you  fail  to  keep  your  oath. ' ' 

"  Never  fear;  no  earthly  influence  and  surely  no 
intervention  of  the  gods  can  turn  me  from  my  oath. 
The  money,  please." 

"  Yes,  and  a  pledge  in  vodka." 

He  unlocked  the  trunk  whose  brass  nails  gleamed  in 
the  lamplight,  and  took  out  a  rubber  tobacco  pouch. 
Then  from  the  book-shelf  he  brought  forth  a  bottle  and 


THE  OLD  MR.  HOWERSON  37 

two  medicine  glasses,  rusty  with  the  stains  of  some  by 
gone  tincture.  He  supposed  that  his  guest  would  need 
water,  and  brought  it  in  a  tin  cup  from  a  leaking  tap  in 
the  corridor. 

"  I  don't  think  that  111  want  much  of  that  stuff," 
said  Howerson  as  the  professor  poured  out  the  liquor. 

' '  A  little  of  it,  sublime ;  too  much  —  ah,  you  can  fancy. 
Just  a  moment  before  we  drink  a  toast.  You  need  not 
look  toward  the  door.  This  end  of  the  shell  is,  with 
the  exception  of  your  humble  president,  untenanted. 
To  your  success!  " 

They  drank  and  bade  each  other  good  night. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
OLD  CALVIN 

About  the  city  purple-jo wled  ancients  were  motoring 
a  distinguished  man  from  abroad.  On  the  Lake  Shore 
Drive  he  called  out  suddenly,  "  Hold  up  a  moment, 
please."  They  halted  abreast  a  great  granite  structure 
surrounded  by  an  iron  fence  brought  from  Germany  and 
exhibited  at  a  world's  fair.  "  Ah,  who  built  this  impe 
rial  prison?  " 

The  purple-jowled  ancients  laughed.  "It  is  not  a 
prison;  it  is  the  residence  of  Calvin  Whateley,  one  of 
our  multimillionaires. ' ' 

"  Ah,"  and  onward  they  sped.  The  distinguished  for 
eigner  looked  back  at  the  somber  brows  of  the  house, 
a  dark  f rown  in  stone ;  and  he  thought  this  hemmed-in 
Pomfret  ought  to  have  more  ground  about  it,  that  the 
monstrous  gate  should  not  be  so  near  the  portals;  and 
he  strove  to  picture  and  to  estimate  the  character  of 
the  man  who  chose  to  live  within  those  cliffy  walls. 

Nor  would  his  task  have  been  easier  had  he  seen 
Calvin  Whateley  come  forth,  to  walk  slowly  up  and 
down  the  yard,  leaning  slightly  forwards,  hands  looped 
back  behind  him,  deep  in  penetrative  thought.  A  tall 
and  big-boned  man,  somewhat  past  sixty,  with  iron-gray 
hair,  he  showed  a  vigor  always  marvelous  to  those  who 
knew  that  he  had  abused  his  strength.  His  mouth  was 
broad,  and  he  had  a  way  of  smacking  it  that  sounded  like 
a  slap.  To  this  man  life  was  warfare  and  business  a 
battle.  Men  bowed  low  to  him;  he  was  smiled  upon, 

38 


OLD  CALVIN  39 

feared  and  hated.  But  he  was  admired,  the  natural 
sequence  of  money  greatness  in  America,  in  Chicago, 
where  a  new  world  materialism  bursts  out  in  smut- 
covered  bloom. 

There  is  nothing  duller  than  the  life  story  of  the 
average  rich  man.  It  is  the  ever  droning  homily  on 
economy  and  attention  to  details,  but  Whateley  belonged 
not  wholly  to  this  class.  He  was  not  a  bookkeeper;  he 
did  not  look  out  for  pennies  to  the  extent  of  carrying 
them  in  a  purse.  To  him  a  dollar  was  not  a  sacred 
thing,  to  be  loved  as  by  a  Kussell  Sage;  it  did  not  so 
much  mean  starvation  remote  as  it  rang  of  power  near. 
In  his  big  schemes  there  was  strong  imagination,  and 
a  fruition  was  as  a  picture  existent  in  the  mind  and  then 
painted.  A  fault  was  that  he  sometimes  neglected  the 
proper  tending  of  a  fruit-bearing  tree  to  graft  an  experi 
ment.  With  him  a  difficulty  was  as  a  bit  of  algebraic 
figuring  to  a  man  enamoured  of  mathematics ;  and  hard 
ness  of  solution  sweetened  his  interest.  It  was  said  that 
in  general  he  hated  man,  but  this  was  not  wholly  true,  for 
the  mind  must  dwell  on  the  subject  it  hates,  while 
Whateley  gave  but  little  thought  to  his  neighbor.  He 
loved  the  memory  of  a  humorous  and  shiftless  father 
and  worshipped  the  picture  of  an  old  mother,  as  he 
had  often  seen  her,  carding  bats  in  the  light  of  a  tallow 
dip. 

Born  of  Scotch-Irish  blood,  near  the  old  battlefield  of 
Guilford  Court  House,  North  Carolina,  with  his  infant 
fists  he  had  sparred  with  poverty.  In  the  gawk  of  depart 
ing  boyhood,  with  brown  jeans  trousers  too  short  for 
him,  he  arrived  in  Chicago,  penniless,  to  be  mocked  by 
youngsters  in  the  street  and  laughed  at  by  men  who 
years  afterward  shivered  in  his  presence.  In  rain  and 
in  mud  he  rolled  barrels  of  salt  down  upon  the  sailing 


40  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

vessels,  the  humorous  butt  of  his  rough  fellows ;  and"  at 
night  in  a  sailor  boarding  house  where  brawls  were 
wont  to  break  out  and  blood  to  flow,  he  studied  the  books 
brought  from  the  old  schoolhouse  where  the  red  sedge 
grass  waved  in  the  wintry  wind.  With  his  first  savings 
he  bought  a  crippled  hand  cart,  loaded  it  with  apples 
and  went  forth  crying  his  wares.  But  Italians  attacked 
him  and  he  fought  them,  breaking  the  nose  of  one,  and 
with  a  bit  of  scantling  caught  up  from  the  ground,  laying 
another  as  senseless  as  death  itself;  but  re-enforcements 
came  and  his  cart  was  demolished.  For  a  time  he  was 
laid  up ;  then  he  came  out,  not  as  a  laborer  or  a  peddler 
of  fruit,  but  as  a  speculator  in  land.  In  his  nearest 
approach  to  a  suit  of  respectable  clothes  he  bought  a 
bit  of  ground  on  time,  sold  it  three  days  later,  pocketed 
two  hundred  dollars  and  went  about  seeking  another  bar 
gain,  found  it  and  profited.  Then  he  bought  new  clothes, 
opened  an  office,  and  evoked  from  a  down-easter  a  Yan 
kee's  most  generous  compliment:  "  That  Whateley's  a 
damned  smart  fellow."  With  an  occasional  backset  he 
prospered,  bought  buildings,  shaved  notes,  and  crushed 
the  unfortunates  whose  names  were  affixed  to  them. 

He  saw  the  mighty  fire  sweeping  from  the  west,  saw 
his  buildings  crumble,  heard  a  city's  wail  of  despair 
borne  upon  the  wind,  and  to  an  acquaintance  he  said, 
"  Stop  your  whining.  It  is  not  the  death  but  the  birth 
of  the  town."  By  the  time  the  ashes  were  cool  he 
was  building  again.  Fortune  came  swiftly  and  some 
times  from  unexpected  sources.  His  far-exploring  eye 
saw  a  chance  in  Indian  lands  and  he  made  three  millions 
within  a  year,  with  the  national  government  as  his 
agent  —  and  his  victim,  some  of  his  envious  and 
admiring  enemies  declared. 


OLD  CALVIN  41 

On  one  of  his  trips  to  his  native  neighborhood  he  met 
a  young  woman  with  whom  he  had  gone  to  school.  No, 
he  had  not  carried  her  books,  had  not  missed  a  word 
perforce  that  she  might  spell  him  down.  And  she  was 
getting  along  apace  when  the  thought  came  to  him  that 
possibly  he  might  be  in  love  with  her,  wondering  how 
it  was  that  he  had  overlooked  her  charm  and  her  virtues, 
and  to  her  matured  cheek  he  brought  a  blush  when 
suddenly  he  said  to  her:  "  By  the  way,  Callie,  I  am 
somewhat  pushed  for  time,  as  I  have  just  received  a 
telegram  calling  me  back,  but  I  have  been  thinking 
about  you,  thinking  that  you  ought  to  be  my  wife. ' '  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  "  Haven't  much  time  to  spare,  as 
my  train  —  ' ' 

"  I  will  marry  you,  Calvin,"  she  broke  in,  and  he  was 
greatly  pleased  with  her  readiness  of  decision.  He 
grew  to  be  deeply  fond  of  her,  and  when  she  died,  years 
later,  leaving  him  a  son  and  a  daughter,  his  heart  gushed 
forth  in  a  torrent  of  grief,  to  find  solace,  his  enemies 
said,  in  crushing  a  foe  who  suddenly  had  strayed  too 
far  within  the  range  of  his  power. 

It  was  Whateley's  hope  that  his  son  Daniel  might 
carry  into  another  generation  his  own  varied  and  diverg 
ent  work,  but  Daniel's  mind  had  early  shown  dis 
taste  for  the  strain  which  to  his  father 's  nature  was  like 
strong  drink.  Daniel  grew  to  be  strong  enough,  was 
sober  enough,  and  in  school  and  at  college  was  inclined 
to  be  studious,  but  he  was  not  a  second  Calvin  Whateley. 
"  I  want  to  be  a  lawyer  and  then  a  politician,"  the 
young  man  had  said,  and  the  father  sat  for  a  long  time 
without  speaking,  the  ash  falling  from  his  cigar,  the 
fire  dying  out.  He  shifted  his  look  over  the  character 
izing  features  of  his  offspring,  his  sandy  hair,  his  bluish 


42  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

eyes  inclined  to  squint  in  a  strong  light,  at  his  mere 
dab  of  a  nose;  and  then  came  to  him  the  anger-cooling 
balm  of  humor. 

"  Dan,  you  were  first  announced  to  me  one  anxious 
night  as  I  walked  up  and  down,  and  do  you  know  what 
the  physician  ought  to  have  said?  He  ought  to  have 
asked  me  if  I  could  take  a  joke." 

Whateley  relighted  his  cigar,  and  a  glow  of  red 
mounted  upward  into  the  young  fellow's  hair. 

"  Father,  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  am  not  a  joke. 
I  am  in  earnest." 

"  No,  not  a  joke,  Dan,  but  a  sort  of  cartoon  of  my 
hope." 

"  But  can  I  help  it?  Wasn't  I  born  this  way.  You 
have  had  a  lot  of  men  to  work  for  you,  men  selected 
by  your  judgment  and  experience,  and  you  haven 't  found 
the  right  one  yet.  Then  how  can  you  expect  me  to 
happen  along  and  fill  the  bill?  " 

Whateley  stood  up,  placed  his  hand  on  Daniel's 
shoulder,  patting  it  slowly.  "  You  got  me  there,  my 
boy.  Of  course  you  can't  help  it." 

"  And  am  I  to  be  a  lawyer?  " 

' '  Well,  as  to  that  I  don 't  know,  but  you  may  try. ' ' 

In  time  he  took  the  course,  was  admitted,  a  laughing 
stock  to  Whateley 's  enemies;  and  they  gleed  it  about 
that  the  old  man  had  refused  his  devoted  son  a  living. 
Detraction  shut  its  eye  to  the  young  man's  peculiar 
independence.  Those  somewhat  acquainted  with  the 
truth,  materialistic  to  the  marrow  and  commercial  of 
blood,  termed  a  man  degenerate  who  would  turn  from 
the  wielding  of  a  mighty  power  to  the  sneezy  dust  of  a 
lawyer's  library. 

The  Whateley  home  was  never  a  social  court,  and 
if  the  young  lawyer  was  a  toast  among  women,  it  was 


OLD  CALVIN  43 

as  a  sort  of  buttered  toast.  Among  the  young  women 
whom  circumstances  urged  that  he  should  meet  was 
a  Miss  Harriet  Tarkwood,  daughter  of  an  extensive 
dealer  in  fish.  Her  posed  and  rehearsed  modesty  was 
fetching  to  Daniel.  He  nibbled  her  hook,  found  the 
bait  sweet,  bit  harder;  and  in  her  quiet  waters  she 
played  him,  let  him  tug  for  a  time  amid  the  rushes, 
landed  him  on  a  white-elovered  brink  and  over  his  final 
flop  imparted  the  tearful  information  that  she  could  not 
live  without  him.  To  father's  home  he  brought  her,  a 
shrinking  bride,  threatening  a  time  when  from  the  world 
and  grosser  flesh  she  would  withdraw  her  mind  and 
center  it  on  her  nerves.  After  several  years  and  about 
the  beginning  of  this  chronicle,  Daniel  took  a  position 
in  the  state's  attorney's  office,  to  fit  himself  for  politics. 
Old  Calvin  laughed  with  the  crackle  of  Indian  sum 
mer  leaves  underfoot,  and  said:  "  Ah,  I  see.  In  order 
to  prepare  yourself  for  politics  you  are  going  to  take 
a  course  in  criminology.  Go  ahead." 

"  I  am  glad  you  don't  object,"  Dan  replied,  grate 
fully.  "  Harriet  thought  it  was  hardly  the  right  thing. 
But  I  am  afraid  that  sometimes  she  judges  too  much 
with  her  nerves.  And  by  the  way,  they  are  just  about 
the  same  this  morning." 

This  was  a  bit  of  news  received  by  Whateley  every 
day,  delivered  by  Dan  or  Harriet  herself,  and  when 
ever  imparted  by  her  the  occasion  was  made  impressive 
with  drawn  mouth  and  lips  too  thin  ever  to  have  given 
the  kiss  of  physical  love. 

How  different  from  brother  was  sister.  In  the  girl 
the  old  man  saw  himself  repainted  by  a  finer  artist.  In 
her  his  strength  of  mind  was  more  than  suggested. 
Opposed,  she  would  have  fought  as  her  father  had  been 
compelled  to  fight.  Not  in  the  business  world  and  surely 


44  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

not  in  social  life  are  women  necessarily  gentler  than  men. 
But  the  daughter,  while  having  the  temperament  of  her 
father,  possessed  not  his  caustic  harshness.  "  If  she 
did, ' '  said  the  fish  dealer,  father  of  Harriet,  after  striking 
Calvin  for  extensive  indorsements  at  the  bank,  "  she 
would  make  some  poor  fool  a  hell  of  a  wife. ' ' 

In  Europe  the  princess  is  beautiful  and  in  America 
the  heiress  of  millions  cannot  be  otherwise  than  hand 
some.  But  poverty  could  not  have  stripped  Rose  Whate- 
ley  of  her  charm.  With  lighter  hues  the  sun  had  streaked 
her  amber  hair,  for  bareheaded  she  played  golf;  and  at 
a  country  club  men  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  the 
old  man 's  wealth  to  watch  her  graceful  swing,  her  drive. 
Her  complexion  had  in  a  way  defied  the  sun,  and  it 
was  a  joy  to  hear  her  laugh,  deep  from  her  bosom,  rich 
with  life.  A  foreign  nobleman,  with  a  retinue  of  serv 
ants  and  debts  trailing  him,  thus  poetized  her  eyes  when 
she  smiled,  "  Olives  illumined,"  and  he  thought  that 
for  this  she  ought  to  marry  him,  and  knowing  that  it 
was  not  his  soul  that  sought  her,  she  laughed  him  forth 
on  his  way  across  the  continent. 

To  his  daughter  Whateley  talked  business,  at  home, 
while  Dan  sat  by  and  accepted  gingerly  the  occasional 
word  addressed  to  him.  At  rare  times  the  lawyer  would 
risk  an  opinion,  nearly  always  met  halfway  by  a  resigned 
smile  from  the  old  man;  and  in  rebuttal  tone  Daniel 
was  wont  to  say,  "  Well,  now,  really  I  don't  see  why  I 
shouldn't  know  as  much  about  it  as  Rose.*' 

"  I  don't  know  either,  my  son,  but  you  don't." 

"  By  George,  dad,  I  believe  Rose  is  working  you,  just 
as  she  was  working  you  the  other  day  when  she  said 
she'd  like  to  take  a  course  in  a  business  college.  Why 
don't  you  work  him  the  same  way,  Harriet?  ri 

Rose  laughed  low  mellow  music,  like  lazy  water  lap- 


OLD  CALVIN  45 

ping  a  moss-covered  rock.  Two  companion  wrinkles 
stood  upright  on  Harriet's  narrow  brow,  in  answer  to 
her  hurt,  and  she  said  that  her  nerves  did  not  condition 
her  for  such  a  strain;  and  as  this  talk  chanced  at  the 
breakfast  table,  the  invalid  proceeded  upon  the  oblitera 
tion  of  a  third  strip  of  bacon,  a  demure  cast  loitering 
in  her  eye.  Rose  came  smilingly  to  her  own  defense. 
"  Dad  knows  I'm  not  trying  to  work  him.  Of  course 
I  don't  care  for  dull  business,  but  in  big  schemes  there 
is  poetry,  Mr.  Daniel.  It's  not  much  to  see  a  man  trund 
ling  a  wheelbarrow,  but  it  is  something  to  see  a  man 
pull  a  lever  and  start  a  great  railroad  train.  There  is 
enough  thrill  in  a  one  night's  dream  launched  into 
reality  at  noon  to  serve  a  dozen  poems,  written  by  the 
anemics  of  to-day." 

The  young  lawyer  said  "Wow!"  and  with  her 
reproving  eye  his  wife  reminded  him  of  her  nerves. 

"  Dad,"  said  Rose,  "  when  are  you  going  to  learn 
to  play  golf?  " 

"  Shortly—" 

"  Good!  " 

"  Shortly  after  I  am  admitted  to  the  Old  Folks'  Home. 
They  tried  to  put  death  on  me  in  the  form  of  whist  and 
now  they  want  to  cripple  me  with  golf.  Look  at  old 
Callison.  He  used  to  have  an  idea  or  two,  but  now 
he  can't  talk  about  anything  but  golf,  a  polly  wanting 
the  eternal  cracker.  What's  that?  I  need  some  sort 
of  recreation?  Not  if  it  is  to  boss  me." 

There  was  one  other  member  of  the  family,  at  this 
time  upstairs  asleep,  Dan's  boy,  beautiful  youngster, 
Calvin  Whateley  junior;  and  upon  him  gushed  forth  a 
grandfather's  recrudescent  love. 

One  morning  in  March  a  year  later,  when  Dan,  his 
wife  and  son  had  lingered  through  a  summer  and  winter 


46  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

abroad,  Rose  said  to  her  father  as  pulling  gently  upon 
his  arm  she  walked  with  him  down  the  hall  toward  the 
front  door :  ' '  This  will  be  a  great  day  for  you,  dad. ' ' 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  Little  Calvin  returns.  But 
why  the  deuce  didn't  Dan  wire  as  to  what  train  he  will 
be  in  on?  I  do  think  he  can  neglect  more  important 
things  than  any  human  being  I  ever  saw.  And  I'll  war 
rant  he  '11  bring  Calvin  to  the  house  instead  of  the  office. 
If  he  does,  send  the  little  fellow  down  at  once." 

' '  Are  you  going  to  be  very  busy  to-day  ?  ' '  she  inquired 
as  they  halted  at  the  door. 

1 1  Always  busy ;  but  never  too  busy  to  see  him. ' ' 

"  I  know.  But  I  may  drop  in  sometime  near  noon. 
I  have  some  business  with  you. ' ' 

"  No  recreation  scheme,  understand,"  he  admonished 
her,  and  she  laughed,  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  ' '  There, 
I  must  run  along." 


CHAPTER  V. 
HUNTING  A  BED 

With  a  hundred  dollars  in  his  pocket,  the  price  of 
his  shroud,  George  Howerson  came  out  from  the  pro 
fessor's  liver-scented  roost  and  stood  where  the  cold  and 
purifying  wind  swept  down  from  the  Dakota  plains. 
He  gazed  off  across  the  river,  toward  blazing  restaurants 
where  amid  music  and  laughter,  black-garbed  men  and 
furred  dames  were  feeding.  Hunger,  sharp  as  a  puppy 's 
tooth,  bit  him,  for  not  since  the  day  before  had  he 
eaten,  and  then  but  a  morsel  caught  up  as  by  command 
of  red-armed  barkeeper  he  moved  along.  "  A  strength 
of  purpose  however  strong  must  be  fed,"  he  mused; 
"  and  must  be  slept,"  he  added.  "So  to  supper  and 
then  to  bed."  From  the  woman's  fund  he  took  five 
dollars,  shifted  it  to  another  pocket,  the  only  remaining 
sound  one,  and  strode  onward  toward  the  river,  posing 
in  the  dark.  He  felt  that  of  late  his  mind  had  been 
wandering  but  that  now,  with  his  great  mission,  it  was 
settled  and  strong.  On  a  bridge  he  passed  young  Ger 
mans  singing  a  stem  song,  and  to  himself  he  said,  "  Ah, 
before  many  hours  you  will  have  learned  my  name,  but 
you  will  not  know  that  you  sang  to  me  to-night." 

The  propriety  of  rags,  the  modesty  of  a  tattered  hat, 
pointed  out  the  brazenness  of  attempting  other  than  a 
basement  feed-trough,  and  into  one  of  these  he  went, 
careful  on  the  sleety  stairs;  and  here  he  ate,  the  pro 
prietor  eyeing  him  in  the  fear  that  he  might  not  be 
able  to  pay  for  so  prodigal  an  order.  But  when  the 

4m 
7 


48  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

five  dollar  note  flashed  forth,  suspicion  shut  its  eye  and 
became  genial  with  the  information  that  it  was  a  cold 
and  blustery  night.  Now  arose  the  bed  question,  simple 
enough  surely  for  one  who  has  money,  but  rags  and 
tatters  unfurled  again  their  timid  caution.  Looking 
about  for  a  long  time,  passing  one  place  after  another 
as  too  high  up,  he  entered  a  "  hotel  "  at  whose  door 
the  driver  of  a  garbage  cart  might  have  hesitated. 

"  What  do  you  want?  " 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  but  I  should  like  to  have  a  bed. 
I  have  the  money  to  pay  for  it." 

"  Here,  go  on  with  you.  What  do  you  take  us  for? 
A  paper  mill?  Out!  " 

Out  he  went,  and  into  another  foul-smelling  hole  that 
seemed  in  the  violence  of  its  stench  to  be  more  "  mod 
est  "  than  the  one  before,  but  he  was  set  again  adrift. 
His  step  quickened  as  if  by  an  inspiration,  and  he 
recrossed  the  river,  headed  for  the  purlieus  of  the  ten- 
cent  lodging  house.  The  first  one  was  full.  At  the 
second,  still  lower  in  all  but  price,  the  manager  said, 
"  I  think  we  are  loaded  to  the  guards,  but  come  in 
here  and  wait  and  I  '11  go  see  if  I  can  find  you  a  bunk. ' ' 
The  floor  of  the  room  wherein  he  waited  was  covered 
with  tramps,  a  morgue  of  dead  rags.  One  old  roadster 
rose  up  upon  his  elbow,  as  if  out  of  a  comic  supplement, 
and  said, ' '  What,  waitin '  to  see  if  you  kin  git  in  amongst 
the  'ristocrats?  Where 'n  hell  did  you  git  ten  cents?  " 

The  keeper  returned  and  beckoning  to  Howerson,  com 
manded  him  to  follow.  He  led  the  way  into  a  passage, 
and  as  Howerson  was  going  out  the  soak  called  after 
him:  "  So  long,  Rockefeller's  son.  Tell  the  old  man  I'll 
answer  his  letter  as  soon  as  I  get  time." 

The  bunk  was  a  mere  slab,  furnished  with  a  bag  of 


HUNTING  A  BED  49 

straw  for  pillow  and  a  strip  of  old  carpet  for  quilt.  The 
room  was  not  large  but  must  have  contained  fifty  bunks, 
all  occupied. 

"  Money  in  advance." 

"  Here  you  are." 

Howerson  took  off  his  shoes,  realizing  that  he  had  been 
walking  with  one  foot  bare  on  the  ground.  Over  him 
he  drew  the  dog-smelling  cover  and  lay  on  his  side,  his 
money  pinned  over  his  heart,  pressed  hard  against  the 
board.  The  place  was  noisy  with  snore,  cough,  groan 
of  distressed  dreamer;  and  through  the  thin  wall  there 
came  from  a  moving  picture  show  the  dinner-pail  pathos 
of  a  woman's  song.  With  his  head  on  the  musty  straw 
he  mused,  ' '  To-morrow  night  I  '11  not  be  afraid  of  being 
robbed.  These  snoring  wretches  will  nearly  all  of  them 
kill  themselves,  and  serve  no  purpose  except  to  rid  the 
encumbered  earth,  while  I  —  I  shall  die  a  martyr.  In 
my  cell  I  will  write  poetry,  and  the  damned  hounds  of 
the  press  will  snatch  at  it.  Women  will  read  it  and 
weep  and  write  to  me,  to  tell  me  of  my  great  soul ;  and 
men  of  letters  will  marvel  that  their  inspired  fellow 
could  have  done  such  a  deed.  They  will  call  me  a  genius 
—  genius,  sweetest  word  in  any  language  —  genius  — 
and  when  I  have  metered  his  death  groan  and  rhythmed 
the  terror  of  his  glassy  eye,  the  critics,  vermin  of  let 
ters  —  ' '  This  last  figure  so  pleased  him  that  he  repeated 
it  over  and  over,  until  taking  a  tune  to  itself,  it  ran 
in  his  mind  like  a  song.  "  Vermin  of  letters  "  lulled 
him  to  sleep,  to  dreams ;  and  he  saw  old  Calvin  Whateley 
sitting  in  his  office,  laughing  over  a  telegram  which  he 
held  in  his  hand.  The  avenger  spoke  and  with  a  laugh 
of  victorious  delight  the  capitalist  threw  him  the  dis 
patch.  "  Here,  read  that,"  and  catching  up  the  paper 


50  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

the  dreamer  read,  "  The  backbone  of  the  strike  is 
broken.  One  hundred  of  the  miners'  children  have 
starved  to  death." 

11  Good!  "  cried  the  avenger,  "  and  now  it  is  my 
time  to  laugh,"  and  with  that  he  fired  —  and  jumped 
out  of  bed.  A  door  had  slammed.  The  manager  had 
entered  the  room.  "  Come,  turn  out  all  of  you,"  he 
commanded.  "  Hurry  up  there,  old  daddy.  What? 
You  can't  get  up?  You've  got  to.  I'm  not  going  to 
let  you  die  here,  I'll  give  you  a  pointer  on  that.  Help 
him  up,  some  of  you  fellers,  while  I  call  the  ambulance." 

As  Howerson  was  going  out  into  the  street  someone 
called  to  him:  "  Say,  there,  just  a  minute.  He  halted, 
turning  about,  while  toward  him  shambled  a  man  too 
young  for  such  a  gait,  but  outcasts  soon  acquire  a  physi 
cal  hypocrisy.  ' '  Say,  pard,  you  walk  like  a  fellow  going 
to  breakfast.  For  the  Lord's  sake  let  me  go  with  you." 

"  All  right,  but  you'll  have  to  leave  off  that  shuffle 
and  walk  like  a  man." 

Together  they  went  toward  the  restaurant  wherein 
Howerson  had  feasted  the  night  before;  and  looking 
aside  at  his  companion  the  avenger  estimated  that  he 
could  not  be  more  than  old  enough  to  sell  a  vote. 
"  Where  are  you  from,  youngster?  " 

"  Out  in  Iowa.  I  went  through  the  state  university 
there  and —  " 

"  The  devil  you  did." 

"  That's  just  about  it  —  the  devil  I  did.  I  went  back 
home  to  our  moral  burg,  got  a  job  in  the  railroad  office, 
but  at  night  a  party  of  us  would  bunch  around  a  jug 
out  in  the  weeds,  and  pretty  soon  it  was  all  up  with 
my  job.  Then  I  came  here,  but  my  love  for  the  jug  came 
along  with  me;  and  by  the  way,  just  give  me  ten  cents 
.and  I'll  let  the  breakfast  go." 


HUNTING  A  BED  51 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  man  that  could  spare  ten  cents?  " 

"  No,  but  you  walk  like  one,  and  besides  that  you 
slept  up  among  the  aristocrats  last  night.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"  No.  You  need  something  to  eat." 

"  But  it's  not  a  question  of  what  I  need  but  of  what 
I  want." 

"  Good  enough,  but  I  think  it's  a  question  of  what 
you'll  get.  But  what  is  to  be  the  final  outcome?  Did 
you  ever  think  of  that?  " 

' '  Oh,  I  guess  I  '11  brace  up  some  day. ' ' 

"  That's  the  guess  of  most  of  us,  but  in  the  majority 
of  cases  we  guess  wrong.  (_A  man  may  look  forward  and 
fancy  that  he  sees  his  reformation  in  the  distance,  but 
as  he  goes  forward  it  flees  from  him.  Reformation  comes 
only  out  of  an  aim  in  life.  Settle  upon  something  that 
you  are  determined  to  achieve,  and  reformation  will 
grip  you."y 

"  Do  you  preach  in  the  first  or  second  Methodist 
church?  But  don't  walk  so  fast." 

"I'm  not  preaching,"  said  Howerson,  holding  up  in 
his  pace.  "I  am  talking  facts." 

'  You  talk  like  a  man  that  ought  to  have  done  some 
thing  yourself,  but  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  saw  your 
name  on  a  billboard." 

' '  You  don 't  know  my  name,  but  you  will,  if  you  ever 
hear  the  cry  of  a  newsboy.  My  name  is  George  Hower 
son.  Keep  it  in  your  mind  until  noon  and  then  it  will 
stay  there  of  its  own  accord.  Here  we  are,  down  in 
this  stewing  hole." 

The  boy  was  retched  by  the  smell  of  soured 
food,  and  drawing  back  from  the  counter  he  pleaded, 
"  Pard,  give  me  a  dime  and  let  me  go.  I  can't  eat  any 
thing.  Damn  it,  man,  I  need  booze." 


52  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Here's  fifty  cents.  Go  to  a  barrel  house  and  drink 
yourself  to  death.  It's  the  best  thing  you  can  do." 

The  young  fellow  shuddered.  "Go  on,"  Howerson 
commanded  him.  "  There's  no  hope  for  you,  and  the 
sooner  you  croak  the  better.  You  are  a  weakling  and  I 
haven't  any  more  time  to  waste  on  you." 

The  youth  clutched  the  piece  of  silver  until  it  was 
almost  embedded  in  his  flesh,  grateful  for  the  question 
able  generosity,  but  with  a  lingering  spark  of  spirit 
resenting  the  grewsome  admonition:  "  I'll  not  follow 
your  advice.  I  'm  going  to  reform  —  right  away,  Jo-mor 
row!  "  Howerson  rhythmed  his  thoughts  thus,  "  Every 
day  is  a  rivet  of  steel,  and  every  moment  a  hammer's 
stroke."  Then  of  a  sleepy-eyed  girl  with  touches  of 
black  about  her  eyes,  he  ordered  his  breakfast,  the  boy 
continuing  to  stand  at  his  elbow  as  if  he  had  left  some 
vital  thing  unsaid ;  and  when  the  girl  was  gone  he  said 
it:  "  If  you  think  that  way,  I  won't  take  your  money. 
I've  got  some  little  pride  left.  Here,  take —  "  but  his 
hand  remained  tight ;  his  spirit  was  willing  but  his  flesh 
was  strong;  and  turning  about  quickly  he  ran  up  the 
stairs. 

"  He'll  not  have  nerve  enough  to  do  it,"  Howerson 
mused.  "  His  eye  looks  out  of  a  weak  soul.  But  then 
he  is  not  to  blame.  Fate  has  not  decreed  him  a 
mission. ' ' 

The  process  of  eating  weakens  or  strengthens  a  resolve. 
The  cud-chewing  cow  is  not  so  much  given  to  quick 
incentives  as  the  horse,  but  she  is  more  thoughtful,  at 
least  more  contemplative.  Mastication  extracts  the  final 
taste  of  a  thought;  and  Howerson  swallowed  the  juices 
of  his  mission  and  found  them  sweet.  When  he  arose 
he  felt  that  his  determination,  if  possible,  was  stronger, 


HUNTING  A  BED  53 

clearer;  and  in  his  mind  he  heard  the  cry  of  his  mar 
tyrdom,  a  glory-anthem  in  the  upper  air. 

It  was  still  early  when  he  came  up  out  of  the  reek  of 
the  "  hash-trough,"  and  for  a  time  he  walked  about 
waiting  for  the  big  department  stores  to  open.  When 
the  hour  came  he  entered  the  portals  of  a  world-known 
establishment,  and  was  confronted  by  a  first  or  second 
"  walking  gentleman  "  who  commanded  him  to  move 
on,  not  inside  but  out.  Then  he  realized,  as  he  might 
have  been  taught  by  his  lodging  house  experiences,  that 
palaces  of  trade  must  be  approached  in  gradation.  Step 
ping  quickly,  with  the  incentive  of  a  suddenly  inherited 
relief  fund  of  thought,  he  hastened  to  a  place  where 
cheap  secondhand  clothing  was  offered  for  sale. 

' '  I  want  to  rent  a  hat,  a  coat  and  a  pair  of  shoes  for 
three  hours." 

"  Rent  'em!  " 

"  That's  what  I  said." 

The  keeper  of  the  place,  an  old  man  with  patriarchal 
beard  but  hawk-eyed,  looked  at  him.  ' '  Don 't  you  think 
it  would  be  safer  for  you  if  I'd  make  you  a  present  of 
the  goods  in  the  first  place?  Rent  'em!  " 

"  I'll  put  up  the  amount  of  the  price  and  take  a 
receipt,  the  money  to  be  refunded  when  I  return  the 
goods." 

"  Ah,  you  got  money?  " 

"  Enough  for  my  purpose,  I  assure  you.  The  fact 
is  that  last  night  I  was  robbed  and  compelled  to  exchange 
clothes  with  a  tattered  wretch." 

"  Then  how  have  you  money  this  morning?  " 

"  I  —  er  —  had  some  loose  money  in  my  hand — -as 
I  held  it  up,  and  it  escaped  their  search." 

Wag  went  his  shrewd  beard.  But  why  should  it  make 


54  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

any  difference  to  the  patriarch?  Had  any  such  circum 
spection  ever  entered  into  the  preliminaries  of  his 
trading  ? 

"  All  right,  I  rent  you,  but  if  you  are  not  back  in 
three  hours,  the  goods  are  sold.    You  hear  ?  ' ' 

Howerson  heard  and  agreed. 

Not  much  time  was  required  to  make  the  selection.  The 
price  was  paid  over,  one  hundred  percent  on  the  orig 
inal  investment,  the  receipt  given;  and  now,  some 
what  more  presentable  but  not  a  great  deal,  Howerson 
returned  to  the  palace  of  trade.  He  was  admitted  and 
conducted  to  the  proper  department ;  but  when  he  had 
made  known  the  extent  of  his  prospective  purchase,  the 
attendant  stepped  lively  and  called  him  "  sir."  He 
insisted  that  pains  should  be  taken  in  the  fitting  of  his 
long  coat,  of  a  pattern  which  in  America  they  call  a 
"  Prince  Albert,"  and  of  which  in  England  they  say 
"  We  don't  know  why."  The  other  purchases  were  easy, 
but  the  gloss  of  the  silk  hat  mirrored  his  surprise  at 
its  price.  In  his  mind  he  counted  his  money  and  bought 
the  hat;  and  when  he  had  adorned  himself  with  it,  the 
"walking  gentleman"  who  had  ordered  him  to  move 
on,  took  polite  occasion  to  smile  upon  him  and  to  bow, 
as  he  was  passing  down  an  aisle. 

He  bought  two  suits  of  cheap  underwear,  socks,  neck 
ties,  and  putting  them  into  a  suitcase  purchased  in  the 
basement,  he  was  ready  to  go  forth  to  return  the  rented 
wardrobe.  Then  he  thought  of  an  overcoat  and  again 
in  his  mind  fingered  over  dollars  and  cents.  But  he 
must  have  an  overcoat  and  bought  one,  not  of  a  family 
with  the  "  Prince  Albert  "  and  the  mirroring  hat,  but 
good  enough,  as  he  would  take  it  off  before  entering 
Whateley's  private  office,  the  death  chamber. 

A  clock  told  that  he  had  an  hour  to  his  credit,  but 


HUNTING  A  BED  55 

he  lost  no  time  in  returning  to  the  secondhand  mart 
of  renovated  rags;  and  the  patriarch  bowing  low, 
returned  the  money  and  hoped  that  his  lordly  patron 
might  prosper.  Now  for  a  bath  and  a  shave,  and  when 
the  transformed  man  appeared  at  the  door  of  a  barber's 
shop  the  manager  of  the  place  called  out,  "  Come  in, 
Major."  New  and  clean  he  came  out,  thrilled  with 
man's  vanity  when  he  caught  the  admiring  eyes  of 
women  as  he  passed  along,  deigning  to  smile  upon  one 
of  them,  believing  that  she  half-halted  to  loiter.  He 
hastened  on  toward  a  shop  where  pistols  were  for  sale. 

"  Ah,  good  morning,  sir.     Can  I  serve  you?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  please.  I  am  going  out  West  and  I 
want  a  pistol." 

The  dealer,  lately  from  that  part  of  the  country, 
flashed  a  wink  at  a  companion  in  arms  who  stood  farther 
down  the  counter. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  think  we  can  fix  you  up.  About  what 
sort—  " 

"  Makes  no  difference  so  long  as  it  carries  a  big  ball. 
What's  this  one?  " 

"That's  a  '  BuUdog, '  —  but  it's  only  a  very 
cheap  — 

"  But  would  it  kill  a  grizzly?  " 

"  Yes,  an  elephant,  for  that  matter." 

"  Go  off  every  time?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  a  center  fire.  But  I  thought  you  might 
want  a  —  " 

"  A  politer  one,  eh?  No,  this  will  do.  Some  cart 
ridges,  please." 

"  Let  me  take  the  number  of  the  brute,"  said  the 
dealer,  meaning  the  "  Bulldog."  "  And,  by  the  way, 
you  are  not  allowed  to  load  it  on  the  premises. ' ' 

But  the  work  of  inserting  the  cartridges  was  quickly 


56  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

performed  behind  an  ash  barrel,  in  an  alley,  and  the 
feeling  that  in  his  pocket  was  a  deadly  power,  an  agent 
of  the  coroner,  a  speed  to  Eternity,  incited  him  to  a 
near-cut  toward  Whateley's  office.  He  turned  into  an 
arcade  wherein  was  wont  to  stand  an  old  man  in  front 
of  his  bookshelves  laden  with  cast-off  print,  arithmetics, 
geographies,  tattered  pamphlets  and  the  purloined  lec 
tures  of  Ingersoll.  Near  by  at  a  small  table  sat  a  card 
writer  and  Howerson  accounted  himself  fortunate,  for 
thus  he  was  reminded  of  a  detail  overlooked.  "Can  you 
write  me  a  card  that  will  look  exactly  like  an 
engraving?  " 

"  Look  better,"  the  artist  assured  him. 

' '  Yes,  I  know  that,  but  will  it  look  like  one  ?  I  don 't 
want  any  dove  flying  with  an  olive  branch  in  his  bill. 
I  want  my  name,  and  without  a  flourish. ' ' 

"  How  many?  " 

"  Only  one." 

"  One?     Why,  that's  a  funny  order." 

"  Well,  write  it  and  I'll  give  you  fifty  cents." 

The  eye  of  the  artist  brightened  and  he  took  up  his 
pen.  But  emotion  incident  upon  the  fall  of  sudden 
fortune  shook  his  hand  and  he  spoiled  two  cards.  With 
the  third  attempt,  however,  he  regained  his  knack  and 
produced  a  work  to  his  liking. 

"  That's  good,"  said  the  purchaser.  "  Here's  your 
money." 

Passing  through  the  archway  out  upon  the  street, 
he  saw  several  men  who  with  ropes  and  windlass  were 
elevating  a  heavy  iron  safe  into  a  third  story  window. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  thoroughfare  stood  idlers, 
gazing.  Throwing  a  theatric  look  at  the  toilers  the  tragic 
dreamer  mused:  "  Ah,  poor  devils,  I  die  for  you."  A 
newsboy  crying  a  noon  edition  thrust  a  paper  toward 


HUNTING  A  BED  57 

him,  which  he  ignored,  but  he  gave  the  boy  ten  cents. 
' '  Trumpeter  of  my  fame, ' '  he  said,  hastening  onward. 

In  his  mind  he  took  stock  of  his  resources,  and  found 
that  in  cash  his  estate  amounted  to  twelve  dollars  and 
twenty-five  cents  —  enough  —  and  his  heart  beat  high 
and  his  blood  leaped  as  he  caught  the  strains  of  a  blind 
man's  fiddle.  Boys,  old  men,  solicited  the  favor  of 
carrying  his  suit  case,  and  along  the  curb  his  ear  was 
saluted  with  the  hackman's  "  Keb,  keb,  sir!  "  Around 
a  corner,  and  now  toward  the  "  Whateley  Building," 
its  grim  cornices  in  the  clouds;  and  he  knew  that  on 
the  tenth  floor  the  dragon  of  finances  had  his  lair.  With 
a  cigar  dealer  below  he  left  his  suit  case,  and  was  shot 
upward. 

In  the  corridor  on  the  tenth  floor  he  passed  a  police 
man  and  entered  an  anteroom  wherein  sat  Big  Jim, 
said  to  have  been  a  prize  fighter  who  by  a  narrow  margin 
missed  national  fame,  now  serving  as  office  boy  to  Calvin 
Whateley.  Jim  bowed  in  the  presence  of  Howerson,  and 
with  a  prize  ring  prance  met  him  to  take  his  overcoat. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Whateley,"  said  the  visitor. 

"  He's  busy  now,  sir." 

"  Here,  give  him  my  card." 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  TORTUKE  CHAMBER 

Old  Calvin  always  came  early  to  his  office,  to  tighten 
the  screws  of  the  day,  Big  Jim  said;  but  on  this  par 
ticular  morning  he  arrived  somewhat  earlier  than  was 
his  wont,  to  grapple  and  to  choke  the  nagging  life  out 
of  new  worries.  He  went  through  the  departments  of 
his  establishment,  stirring  things  up  with  his  eye,  caus 
ing  more  than  one  surprised  idler  to  snatch  suddenly 
at  his  work;  and  growled  his  way  into  his  own  work 
shop,  known  as  the  "  torture  chamber."  It  was  a  large 
room  furnished  mainly  with  a  big  flat-top  desk  always 
heaped  with  papers.  On  the  walls,  covered  with  dark 
burlap,  there  were  no  pictures,  but  in  one  corner  stood 
a  bronze  bust  of  Cromwell.  The  floor  was  soft  with  a 
thick  carpet.  The  window  shades  were  dark,  and  the 
radiator  was  painted  black. 

Just  as  Whateley  sat  down,  stirring  among  his  papers, 
Big  Jim  looked  in  upon  him.  "  Jim,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  you  were  drunk  yesterday,"  and  the  giant  gasped  his 
astonishment.  "  You  needn't  deny  it.  I  could  smell 
you  all  over  the  building." 

1  That's  very  strange,  sir,"  Jim  replied  wonderingly, 
as  if  striving  to  solve  a  problem. 

'  Very.  And  you  jammed  the  elevator  boy 's  hat  down 
over  his  eyes  and  told  him  you  could  whip  any  man  in 
America. ' ' 

"  That's  very  singular,  sir." 

68 


THE  TORTURE  CHAMBER  59 

"  Very.  And  do  you  think  I'm  going  to  permit  you 
to  disgrace  my  establishment?  " 

"  Admittin'  that  I  was  a  little  off,  sir,  not  wishin'  to 
dispute  your  word,  it  was  the  first  time  in  a  year.  A 
man  can 't  stand  everything,  sir.  I  have  trouble  at  home. 
My  wife  cuts  up,  sir,  and  she  threatens  to  get  a  divorce. 
Not  long  ago  I  let  her  black  my  eye,  somethin '  that  very 
few  men  could  do,  sir,  and  this  ought  to  have  satisfied 
her  but  it  didn't.  Yesterday  she  got  drunk  and  I  had 
to  keep  her  company.  I  didn't  know  how  else  to  be  a 
companion  with  her,  sir;  and  we  are  told  that  a  man 
and  wife  ought  to  be  companions." 

' '  Yes,  but  I  '11  send  for  your  wife  and  get  her  story. ' ' 

Jim  exhibited  alarm.  "I'd  rather  you  wouldn't  do 
that,  sir.  I  don't  think  you'd  enjoy  a  conversation  with 
her.  She's  very  thick  of  hearing,  sir,  and  it  would  be 
hard  for  you  to  make  her  understand  what  you  wanted 
with  her." 

"  Ah,  you  don't  want  her  to  prove  you  are  a  liar." 

"  Well,  isn't  that  natural,  sir?  " 

Whateley  coughed  to  conceal  a  smile.  "  Well,  the 
next  time,  Jim,  down  and  out  you  go." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir.  I'll  put  up  with  everything  for 
your  sake,  sir." 

Whateley  waved  him  out,  and  proceeded  to  cut  open 
the  letters  piled  on  his  desk,  frowning,  grunting,  some 
times  leaning  back  in  his  chair  to  puff  at  his  cigar  and 
to  think.  After  a  time  he  pressed  hard  on  a  button 
as  if  the  time  for  determined  action  had  come.  In  an 
adjoining  room  there  arose  not  the  ringing  of  a  bell, 
but  a  loud  buzz  like  a  riot  call  in  a  hornet's  nest.  Miss 
Gwin,  subdued  stenographer,  entered  the  "  torture 
chamber,"  bowed  timidly,  interpreted  a  two-section 
grunt  to  mean  "  good  morning,"  and  in  obedience  to  a 


60  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

short  nod,  sat  down.  The  old  man  cleared  his  throat, 
a  sound  like  a  blacksmith's  rasp  on  a  horse's  hoof,  cut 
ting  into  the  iron  shoe;  and  Miss  Gwin  quickened  the 
expression  of  her  sad  countenance  to  prove  her  readi 
ness  to  serve  an  indulgent  monster.  Whateley  dictated : 

"  To  John  Wherry,  Eockdale,  Mo.  Do  not  yield  a 
single  point.  If  the  men  continue  to  persist,  close  down 
the  works.  Let  it  be  known  that  I  will  set  fire  to  the 
establishment  rather  than  give  in." 

"  To  Hefferon  &  Majors,  Hamilton,  Ohio.  Your  letter 
is  deeply  eloquent  of  distress,  and  the  composition  of  it 
must  have  cost  considerable  pains,  but  eloquence  in  busi 
ness  is  a  wasted  art,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  Appar 
ently  you  made  no  great  effort  to  meet  your  obligations, 
seeming  to  expect  an  extension  of  time.  But  without 
waste  of  words  let  me  assure  you  that  you  must  toe  the 
mark  or  take  the  consequences." 

He  glanced  in  silence  into  the  contents  of  letter  after 
letter.  Some  of  the  "  offerings  "  he  dropped  into  the 
wastebasket;  others  he  put  aside  to  be  taken  up  by  a 
lesser  hand.  Then  he  took  up  one,  read  it,  knit  his 
brows,  unraveled  them  and  dictated: 

"  To  Witherspoon  &  Eankin. 

"  I  am  somewhat  astonished  at  the  verdict  for  five 
thousand  dollars  rendered  in  favor  of  Mrs.  Nash,  for  the 
death  of  her  husband,  alleged  to  have  been  killed  by  one 
of  my  street  cars.  I  should  have  thought  that  as  money 
is  somewhat  tight,  common  drunkards  would  be  cheaper 
this  year.  Of  course  you  are  to  appeal  the  case. ' ' 

He  glanced  at  Miss  Gwin,  saw  that  she  was  striving 
against  emotion.  "  Eh,  what's  the  matter?  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  Mrs.  Nash  is  my  mother, 
and  Mr.  Nash,  my  stepfather,  was  not  a  drunkard, ' '  she 
faltered. 


THE  TORTURE  CHAMBER  61 

The  old  man  frowned.  "  Why  didn't  you  say  some 
thing  about  this  before?  " 

"  I  was  afraid  I  might  be  dismissed,  sir.  My  mother 
depends  —  ' ' 

"  Yes,  your  mother  needs  the  money.  But  is  it  my 
business  to  supply  every  needy  mother  with  money?  Am 
I  to  be  a  source  of  universal  revenue?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir." 

"  You  don't  know.  I  am  glad  I  can  credit  you  with 
that  much  information.  Our  witnesses  testified  that 
Nash  was  drunk." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  witnesses  don't  always 
tell  the  truth." 

' '  No,  not  unless  it  is  to  their  interest.    That 's  all. ' ' 

Miss  Gwin  arose  and  looked  at  him  as  he  was  busy 
with  his  papers.  Whateley  shot  a  glance  at  her.  "  That's 
all." 

"  Mr.  Whateley,  if  you  knew  how  hard  Mr.  Nash 
had  to  work  for  a  living,  I  am  sure —  " 

"  And  can't  you  be  equally  sure  I  said  '  That's  all  '?  " 

As  Miss  Gwin  turned  to  go,  Jim  came  in,  said  that 
Mrs.  Nash — and  the  old  man  roared.  ''What  the 
devil  did  she  want  to  come  here  for!  Tell  her  I  won't 
see  her." 

Jim  ducked  back  into  the  precincts  of  his  own  terri 
tory,  and  in  subdued  hysteria  Miss  Gwin  went  out  to 
mingle  distresses  with  her  mother;  and  the  poor  old 
woman  in  rusty  black  went  away,  to  shudder  in  good  cause 
at  the  harshness  of  the  world.  Miss  Gwin  did  not  wear 
the  sealskin  so  soft  and  furry  in  the  fancy  of  a  country 
girl  practicing  prospective  stenography  with  one  hand 
and  reaching  languidly  toward  chocolate  creams  with 
the  other.  At  different  times  old  Calvin  had  employed 
many  young  shorthanders,  and  not  a  few  of  them,  newly 


62  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

installed,  had  beamed  blue-orbed  upon  him,  but  if  any 
of  them  ever  wore  polar  hide  they  acquired  its  price 
out  of  necessary  economy  or  through  the  channels  of 
graces  tossed  off  in  some  other  direction. 

With  chilled  fingers  the  stepdaughter  of  the  ' '  drunk 
ard  who  ought  to  have  been  cheaper  ' '  hailed  down  upon 
her  keyboard,  and  the  old  man,  sole  audience  of  his  own 
occasional  growl,  sat  over  a  big  parchment  bond  which 
a  quickly  entering  and  retiring  understrapper  had  just 
placed  before  him.  He  mused,  his  mind  half  on  the 
bond  and  half  on  the  world  in  general :  "  Money,  money  ! 
Everybody  straining  after  it.  Legislators  with  their 
hands  held  out  and  their  paws  getting  bigger  all  the  time. 
After  a  while  it  will  be  quite  a  luxury  to  own  half  a 
dozen  of  them."  His  eye  caught  sight  of  a  sheet  of 
paper  that  had  slipped  down  from  a  pile  of  rubbish  at 
his  elbow.  "  What's  this?  Lost  his  leg  in  a  coal  mine. 
Demands  that  I  shall  furnish  him  with  another.  Loses 
his  own  leg  and  wants  to  pull  mine. "  He  tore  the  paper 
and  threw  it  into  the  waste  basket. 

Jim  came  in,  ducking  his  turtle  head,  and  thrust  forth 
a  card.  Whateley  glanced  at  it.  "  Reverend  Dr.  Hen- 
shaw.  Money.  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  But  I'll  just  fight 
it  out  with  him.  Show  him  in.  ...  I've  paid  exorbi 
tant  rent  for  that  pew  year  after  year  and  haven't  — 
slept  in  it  more  than  once  in  six  months." 

In  came  the  reverend  gentleman,  with  close-cropped 
gray  about  the  gills,  rushed  forward,  overturned  a  pile 
of  papers  and  seized  Whateley  by  the  hand.  "  My  dear 
Mr.  Whateley,  my  very,  very  dear  sir,  how  are  you1? 
You  are  the  first  one  I  call  on  after  my  return. ' ' 

"  Sit  down,  Doctor." 

He  shook  Whateley 's  hand  again,  with  a  gleam  of 
gold  through  the  winter  meadow  about  his  mouth,  and 


THE  TORTURE  CHAMBER  63 

sat  down.  ' '  I  thank  you,  sir ;  I  thank  you  very  much. 
And  as  I  have  just  remarked,  you  are  the  first  one  I  call 
on, after  my  return,  a  great  pleasure  to  me,  I  assure 
you." 

' '  Have  you  been  out  of  town,  Doctor  ?  ' ' 

At  times  in  life  we  all  of  us  receive  almost  a  vital 
blow;  the  overconfident  candidate  upon  receiving  news 
of  his  impossible  defeat  is  crushed,  but  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Henshaw  was  mashed  out  flat,  like  the  trick  dummy 
run  over  by  the  street  roller,  and  it  was  some  time  before 
he  began  to  round  out  again.  But  Whateley  waited 
for  him,  stirring  among  his  papers  until  the  victim 
of  the  catastrophe  found  wind  to  say,  ' '  Out  of  town ! 
Merciful  Heaven,  man,  I  have  just  returned  from 
Europe." 

"  Oh,  is  that  so?    Have  a  cigar." 

' '  I  thank  you,  sir ;  I  don 't  smoke.  I  have  never  tasted 
tobacco.  Learned  from  my  New  England  mother  to  — 
to  hate  rum  and  tobacco." 

"  Good  enough.  But  my  mother  smoked  by  the  cabin 
fire,  musing  over  the  good  she  might  do  to  some  dis 
tressed  neighbor,  and  somehow  I  am  of  the  opinion  that 
the  Lord  never  held  it  up  against  her  very  hard." 

The  doctor  rubbed  his  hands  together.  "  Ah,  pos 
sibly  not." 

Whateley  smiled.  "  Well,  do  you  find  everything  all 
right  upon  your  return  ?  ' ' 

The  doctor  coughed  in  a  floating  cloud  of  smoke,  and 
shook  his  head  impressively.  "  Not  as  I  could  wish,  Mr. 
Whateley;  not  wholly  as  I  could  wish." 

"  Well,"  said  the  man  of  millions,  "  it's  human 
nature,  you  know,  to  wish  for  more  than  we  can  get. ' ' 

Jim  handed  in  a  card.  Whateley  bestowed  upon  it  a 
quick  glance.  "  Tell  Mr.  Ames  I  am  not  in." 


64  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Jim  pranced  his  pleasure.  How  he  loved  to  turn  away 
the  common  herd.  "  But  he  says,  sir,  that  he  will  wait 
till  you  do  come  in."  « 

"  Tell  him  I'm  out  and  will  remain  out  permanently. 
You're  stronger  than  he  is.  Then  see  to  it." 

Jim  retired  delighted,  and  Whateley  answered  the 
inquiring  look  of  Henshaw's  countenance:  "  A  poor 
devil  of  an  inventor  trying  to  mold  a  foggy  thought  in 
brass.  I  have  given  him  one  interview  and  that's 
enough. ' ' 

"  No  doubt,"  said  the  doctor.  "  But  inventors  some 
times  have,  I  might  say,  unique  ideas.  I  knew  one  that 
got  up  a  device  for  filing  and  keeping  track  of  sermons, 
and  it  was  quite  ingenious,  I  assure  you.  What  sort  of 
an  invention  has  this  one  ?  ' : 

"  Well,  that's  just  about  what  he's  trying  to  find  out 
himself.  Er  —  did  you  wish  to  see  me  about  anything 
in  particular,  Doctor  ?  ' ' 

Henshaw  coughed,  once  as  an  experiment,  then  as  the 
revised  and  accepted  achievement,  and  shifting  his  post 
ure  to  one  of  more  studied  and  conventional  uneasiness, 
gave  his  host  an  appealing  eye.  "  Well,  yes,  in  a  way. 
My  dear  Mr.  Whateley,  we  —  I  may  say  that  while  in 
person  you  are  not  very  active  in  our  —  hah  —  devoted 
church,  yet  we,  I  might  say,  look  upon  you  fondly  as  one 
of  the  pillars  —  that  is  —  " 

"  As  one  of  the  bolsters  when  you  need  money," 
Whateley  blew  in  upon  him  with  a  puff  of  smoke. 

The  doctor  blinked,  coughed  and  said:  "  Well,  I 
wouldn't  put  it  exactly  that  way  —  that  is,  not  pre 
cisely  that  way,  but  for  the  sake  of  that  brevity  wherein 
lies  our  wit  if  not  our  witticism  —  may  in  brief  say  — 
yes.  Ahem!  " 


THE  TORTURE  CHAMBER  65 

11  And  at  present,  Doctor,  what  peculiar  phase  of 
financial  distress  are  you  trying  to  stare  out  of 
countenance?  " 

Henshaw  brightened  and  shifted  into  an  uneasier  and 
therefore  more  righteous  position.  "  Well,  you  must 
know,  my  dear  Mr.  Whateley,  that  as  a  Christian  organ 
ization  we  have  a  certain  honor  to  maintain;  indeed,  a 
sacred  obligation.  Upon  returning  from  my  —  er  — 
much  needed  rest  abroad,  I  find  that  our  people  have 
not  been  very  active  in  subscribing  our  share  of  the 
means  for  the  proper  and  respectable  maintenance  of 
foreign  missions." 

This  was  followed  by  a  sonorous  and  completely  suc 
cessful  "  ahem!  "  and  Whateley,  with  the  cold- wave- 
signal  smile  that  so  many  men  had  learned  to  dread, 
took  up  a  newspaper.  "  I  see  here,  Doctor,  that  one 
denomination  in  this  country  has,  this  year,  raised  ten 
million  dollars  for  foreign  missions." 

The  doctor's  smile  was  one  of  assumed  astonishment 
turned  sick.  Experience,  the  exercise  of  ethical  profes 
sionalism,  demanded  that  he  should  sink  back  into  repose, 
with  hands  outspread  and  fingertips  pressed  gently 
together.  This  was  accomplished  without  a  bobble. 
"  Yes,  a  goodly,  a  very  goodly  sum." 

"  Very,"  said  Whateley.  "  And  in  another  column 
I  read  that  in  New  York  fifteen  thousand  children  are 
aompelled  to  go  to  school  hungry. ' ' 

"  Dear  me,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "  you  astonish 
me." 

"  No  doubt.    Here  it  is.    Read  it." 

The  doctor  took  the  newspaper,  followed  the  direction 
of  Whateley 's  finger  and  read  the  paragraph.  Then,  to 
gain  time,  he  pressed  his  glasses  tighter  upon  his  nose 


66  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

and  gave  a  make-believe  of  reading  more  carefully. 
"  Ah,  so  it  appears.  Most  distressing  state  of  affairs, 
I  should  think." 

"  Very,"  said  Whateley. 

"  Yes,  very,"  the  doctor  agreed,  sighing  as  he  placed 
the  startling  information  carefully  on  the  desk.  "  Fif 
teen  thousand!  Dear  me.  But  possibly  there  may  be 
some  exaggeration.  Let  us  hope  so.  Ah,  certain  it  is 
that  the  poor  we  have  with  us  noon  and  night  as  well 
as  morning.  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Whateley,  the  hunger 
of  this  world  is  as  nothing  compared  with  the  never- 
ending  anguish  of  the  world  to  come.  The  body  is  tem 
porary  ;  the  soul  —  ahem  —  is  eternal.  And  as  keepers  of 
brothers  whom  we  have  never  seen,  you  and  I  are 
responsible  for  the  souls  of  men  yet  unborn.  And 
believing  that  your  conscience  must  tell  you  that  this  is 
true,  I  now  ask  you,  Mr.  Whateley,  one  of  the  most 
successful  and  therefore  one  of  the  most  responsible  of 
men  —  I  ask  you  as  to  what  amount  I  may  set  down 
opposite  your  name  for  foreign  missions." 

About  the  financier's  lips  the  chill  smile  played,  but 
to  the  doctor,  an  estimater  of  words  rather  than  a  reader 
of  countenances,  the  frosty  gleam  was  a  light  of  encour 
agement,  and  in  his  turn  he  smiled.  .  .  .  And  on 
the  window  ledge  a  cold  sparrow  fluttered. 

' '  Doctor,  you  may  put  me  down  for  —  ' ' 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Whateley." 

"  For  one  penny." 

Ah,  the  smile  had  been  a  play  of  humor;  and  the 
doctor  laughed.  "  How  fond  of  a  joke  you  are,  Mr. 
Whateley.  You  must  have  inherited  it,  an  atavistic  trait 
from  some  droll  ancestor.  But  it  is  well  that  in  the 
midst  of  our  worries  and  severer  trials  we  should  find 
a  relief,  or  I  might  more  properly  say,  assistance  if  not 


THE  TORTURE  CHAMBER  67 

a  —  almost  real  consolation  in  the  indulgence  of  humor. 
And  now  you  will  raise  that  one  penny  to  —  er —  one 
thousand  dollars?  " 

"  One  penny;  no  more.  Hitherto,  Dr.  Henshaw,  I 
have  helped  to  pour  money  into  the  bottomless  rathole 
of  foreign  missions,  but  I  am  done.  I  am  willing  to  risk 
money  on  an  experiment,  but  when  I  find  out  that  it  is 
always  to  be  an  experiment,  I  give  it  over  to  people  that 
are  fonder  of  wasting  money  than  I  am." 

"  Mr.  Whateley,  it  grieves  me  to  hear  you  say  that." 

"  No  doubt.  Not  long  ago  I  read  the  statement  of  an 
English  missionary  in  which  he  said  that  in  his  opinion 
there  had  never  been  a  hundred  real  conversions  in 
China." 

"  A  grave  error,  sir;  a  most  dangerous  error.  But 
does  he  say  that  the  missionaries  have  not  planted  and 
fostered  the  growth  of  our  —  ahem  —  trade  in  heathen 
lands?  " 

"  Oh,  shifting  it  over  to  a  commercial  basis,  eh? 
Well,  granting  that  the  missionaries  are  commercial 
travelers  in  spiritual  disguise,  doesn't  it  strike  you  that 
they  soldier  on  the  job?  Did  you  wish  to  see  me  about 
anything  else,  Dr.  Henshaw?  " 

In  the  doctor's  sigh  there  was  the  proper  degree  of 
anxiety  and  distress.  ' '  Why  —  er  —  a  matter  of  very 
small  moment.  There  has  been  some  little  talk  —  I  may 
say  that  it  has  been  intimated  to  me  that  in  considera 
tion  of  my  heavy  expenses  abroad  —  indeed,  some  of  my 
friends  think  that  I  ought  to  have  more  salary.  I  trust, 
sir,  that  you  do  not  object. ' ' 

"  Not  at  all,  Doctor.  In  whatever  line  it  may  be, 
whenever  you  find  an  efficient  and  trustworthy  man, 
pay  him.  Nearly  every  man  of  affairs  is  looking  about 
for  someone  whom  he  can  trust,  someone  who  will  not 


68  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

prove  assassin  to  his  interests  —  to  find  someone  who 
would  not  for  money  murder  his  very  soul.  And  some 
how,  my  judgment  of  a  man  comes  with  the  first  flash 
of  him.  But  we  are  all  more  or  less  judges  of  char 
acter  until  some  fatal  moment — what  is  it?  " 

Jim  presented  a  card.  Whateley  read  the  name. 
"  'George  Howerson,'  I  don't  know  him.  What  sort 
of  a  looking  man  is  he?  " 

"  As  fine  a  looking  chap  as  you  ever  see,  sir." 

' '  Tell  him  to  write  the  nature  of  his  business. ' ' 

Jim  pranced  out.  Whateley  continued.  "  Yes,  sir, 
the  first  flash  —  intuition,  if  you  will;  and  it  seems  to 
me  that  right  there  is  where  the  most  of  you  preachers 
are  lacking.  Your  faith  is  developed  at  the  expense  of 
your  perception." 

The  doctor  arose  to  go.  But  he  needs  must  linger  to 
speak  a  few  more  wise  words:  "  I  have  never  experi 
enced  any  difficulty  in  reading  character.  It  comes  to 
me  in  a  most  natural  way,  inherited,  like  your  sense  of 
humor.  But  I  do  wish,  Mr.  Whateley,  that  you  would 
take  a  more  hopeful  view  of  foreign  missions.  I  bid 
you  good  day." 

Whateley  had  turned  again  to  an  examination  of  the 
bond.  "  Good  day.  But  when  the  Lord  wants  China 
men  and  Hottentots,  He'll  get  'em." 

Henshaw  halted  at  the  door,  looked  back  at  Whateley, 
who  had  not  taken  his  eyes  off  the  bond,  sighed  pro 
fessionally,  and  went  out,  passing  Jim.  The  "  bouncer  " 
placed  before  Whateley  a  leaf  torn  from  a  tab.  On  it 
was  written :  "  I  wish  to  see  you  about  the  construction 
of  a  new  system  of  waterworks  at  Glenwich."  Whate 
ley  read  the  words  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  musing 
over  them.  Jim  stood  waiting. 

"  Tell  him  to  come  in." 


CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  MISSION  OF  THE  BULLDOG 

So  intent  was  Whateley  upon  the  broad  sheet  of  paper 
spread  out  in  front  of  him  that  he  did  not  look  up  as 
Howerson  entered.  The  visitor  came  forward,  seeming 
to  feed  upon  him  with  hungry  eyes;  and  near  the  desk 
he  stood,  slowly  taking  off  his  gloves,  as  Whateley  looked 
up. 

"  Ah,  sit  down,  sir.  Pardon  me  just  a  moment."  He 
looked  down  again,  leaning  forward  to  read  the  close 
writing  on  the  bond. 

"  Thank  you." 

Howerson,  gazing  at  him,  slowly  sat  down.  The 
tyrant,  the  crusher  of  men,  had  not  said  enough,  had 
not  revealed  himself.  The  avenger  would  wait.  There 
was  time  enough.  He  would  play  with  him,  draw  him 
into  an  argument,  penetrate  the  inner  blackness  of  his 
soul.  Whateley  glanced  at  him,  searched  him,  then  look 
ing  down  again,  muttered  to  himself.  The  avenger 
yearned  to  hear  those  secret  thoughts,  for  he  knew  that 
they  were  dark  and  of  evil  threat  to  some  poor  wretch, 
the  determination  to  oust  some  widow  from  her  home; 
and  he  was  glad  that  this  drinker  of  misfortune's  blood 
after  admitting  him  had  almost  ignored  his  presence, 
thus  giving  his  own  blood  a  longer  time  to  boil. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Whateley,  putting  the 
bond  aside.  "  Waterworks  at  Glenwich?  Do  you.  come 
as  a  representative  from  that  city?  " 


70  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  No  one  knows  that  I  have  come.  But  it  struck  me 
that  they  need  a  new  water  system. ' ' 

' '  Rather  vague.    Have  you  examined  the  ground  ?  ' ' 

"  Not  thoroughly,  but  it  requires  only  one  look  to 
reveal  the  truth.  I  have  not  spoken  to  anyone  in  author 
ity.  It  will  require  money  and  influence,  exactly  where  I 
am  short;  and  I  thought  perhaps  I  might  interest  you. 
But  I  confess  to  you  that  I  have  had  no  experience  in 
this  line. ' ' 

Whateley  grunted.  Not  yet  had  he  spoken  the  vital 
word;  and  the  "  Agent  of  Justice,"  with  vengeance  in 
his  heart  uncooled,  wondered  at  himself  and  his  pliant 
lying.  How  delicious  a  comedy,  what  a  lead-up  to 
tragedy!  It  was  too  soothing  to  give  over;  he  would 
play  it  yet  a  while  longer.  He  hungered  for  new  expres 
sions  in  those  exploring  eyes  before  death  should  dim 
them. 

"  Why  did  you  think  that  I  would  be  interested?  " 

"  Because  there  is  money  in  it." 

"  Good  enough.  But  why  should  I  take  up  such  a 
proposition  with  a  stranger?  " 

' '  Because  you  are  a  judge  of  men. ' ' 

"  Ah,  and  because  I  am  not  likely  to  take  up  with  a 
mere  dreamer." 
'    "  All  achievement  was  once  a  dream." 

Whateley  grunted.  "  And  so  was  all  failure.  But 
there  might  be  something  in  your  undigested  scheme. 
I  have  in  a  way  thought  of  it  myself.  I  very  often  motor 
around  in  that  neighborhood. ' ' 

And  the  avenger  mused,  "  The  old  beast  is  already 
planning  a  robbery."  Had  the  cue  been  spoken? 
Whateley  looked  down,  stirring  among  his  papers.  How- 
erson  arose,  his  hand  behind  him;  and  at  this  moment 
there  came  a  joyous  cry: 


THE  MISSION  OF  THE  BULLDOG  71 

"  Grandpa." 

A  beautiful  boy  came  running  into  the  room ;  and  the 
old  man  dropped  everything  and  sprang  up  from  his 
chair,  with  arms  held  out. 

"  "Why  God  bless  his  life,"  the  tyrant  cried,  catching 
up  the  boy  with  a  tight  hug.  "  Grandpa  hasn't  seen 
him  in  an  age.  No,  and  everything  has  been  going 
wrong  since  you  left  me,  but  now  everything  will  go  all 
right.  God  bless  you!  "  Then  he  said  to  Howerson, 
who  had  dropped  down  upon  the  chair :  ' '  This  is  Calvin 
Whateley,  Junior,  my  son 's  boy.  But  whose  boy  are  you, 
hah  —  whose  boy?  " 

' '  Your  boy, ' '  cried  the  little  fellow. 

The  old  man,  his  eyes  soft  and  beaming,  hugged  him. 
"  Yes,  my  boy,  God  bless  him.  And  here  we  are  at  home 
again,  seated  on  our  throne, ' '  and  he  put  the  happy  child 
on  the  desk  between  himself  and  Howerson;  and  the 
little  fellow  shook  his  head,  color-caught  from  the  sun, 
and  laughed,  and  Big  Jim  stuck  his  head  in  and  winked 
at  him.  Howerson  sat  dazed,  in  an  emotion  too  new,  too 
strange  for  thought,  feeling  that  it  would  be  profane  of 
him  to  speak.  Cold  dew  gathered  on  his  brow,  and  he 
shuddered,  and  he  knew  that  it  was  icy  murder  melting, 
trickling  from  his  heart. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  old  man,  stroking  the  boy's  hair, 
"  did  you  have  a  good  time?  " 

With  a  clap  of  hands  little  Calvin  cried,  "  You  bet." 

Old  Calvin  laughed,  and  the  sparrow  that  had  flut 
tered  cold  on  the  window  ledge,  now  seemed  warm  in  a 
ray  of  the  sun.  "  Yes,  we'll  bet  and  we'll  win.  And 
what  did  you  see  over  there  in  those  places  where  grand 
pa  has  never  had  time  to  go?  Hah!  What  did  you 

,e?  " 

"  Oh,  a  whole  lot  of  things.     Big  castles  where  they 


72  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

used  to  shut  people  up  to  starve  to  death,  and  a  house 
made  out  of  glass,  and  a  tower  that  leaned  over,  and 
houses  where  the  Romans  used  to  live,  mamma  said ;  and 
h^aps  of  other  things.  And  in  the  garden  of  the  hotel 
I  met  a  boy  that  couldn't  talk  like  us,  and  he  didn't 
know  how  to  fight  with  his  fists,  and  I  showed  him  and 
he  bawled.  Wasn't  that  funny?  Oh,  yes,  and  I  saw 
an  —  an  —  anarchist,  papa  said,  and  they  were  taking 
him  to  jail  because  he  tried  to  kill  a  king,  and  he  had  a 
red  handkerchief  tied  around  his  neck,  and  he  looked 
bad.  Would  an  anarchist  kill  you,  grandpa?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  tender  old  dragon,  "if  he  could 
sneak  up  on  me."  Howerson  shivered,  the  cold  dew  on 
his  brow,  the  words  of  Annie  Zondish  pulsing  in  his 
ears.  The  old  man  spoke  to  him,  startled  him  out  of  his 
cold  abstraction.  "  Isn't  he  a  splendid  little  fellow?  " 

"  Glorious!  "  cried  the  man  with  the  pistol  in  his 
pocket,  and  the  old  money  wolf  gave  him  a  kindly  look, 
warming  the  dew  on  his  brow.  "  I  don't  wonder  that 
you  love  him. ' ' 

"  Love  him?  Worship  him!  And  kind-hearted  little 
deity,  he  doesn't  take  advantage  of  it.  He  is  my  own 
youth  brought  back,  my  own  boyhood  idealized,  for  I 
was  poor,  sir,  and  early  I  felt  the  cold  breath  of  man; 
and  this  child  is  more  to  me  than  all  the  business  in  the 
world.  Aren't  you,  Calvin?  " 

"  You  bet!  "  the  boy  shouted;  and  they  heard  Big 
Jim  in  the  anteroom  humming  a  tune,  for  a  visit  from 
the  boy  always  meant  emancipation  from  the  rigor  of 
rule  or  the  hard,  cold  eye  of  ill  humor, 

"  And  now,  Calvin,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  have  a 
piece  of  business  for  you  to  transact, ' '  and  raking  among 
his  papers  he  found  a  check  book  and  began  to  write  in 


THE  MISSION  OF  THE  BULLDOG  73 

it,  while  the  boy  looked  on,  laughing.  Then  the  little 
fellow  gave  his  full  attention  to  Howerson,  his  eye  glow 
ing  with  a  boy 's  admiration.  ' '  Gee,  but  I  '11  bet  you  are 
strong  —  stronger  than  Big  Jim.  I  '11  bet  you  could  play 
football,  couldn't  you?  " 

"  I  used  to  play,  little  man." 

' '  And  did  your  side  beat  ?  ' ' 

"  Not  always." 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  old  Calvin,  tearing  out  a  check. 
' '  See  ?  Pay  to  the  order  of  Anderson  Baxter,  secretary 
of  the  Home  Mission  Society,  one  thousand  dollars.  Now 
sign  your  name  right  here,  '  Calvin  Whateley,  Junior.'  " 

The  boy  took  the  check  and  looked  at  it.  "  Have  I 
got  this  much  money,  grandpa?  "  and  the  old  man 
laughed. 

"  That  much!  Why,  that's  hardly  a  drop  in  your 
bucket." 

"  But  what's  it  for,  grandpa?  " 

And  the  delighted  old  crusher  of  men  cried  out,  ' '  Oh, 
he's  a  sharp  and  inquiring  little  capitalist,"  and  he 
laughed,  shaking  his  shrewd  head,  a  shake  that  had 
meant  death  to  many  a  hope.  The  boy,  with  an  old  look 
on  his  face,  repeated  his  question,  and  seriously  the 
man  of  business  answered  him:  "  It  is  to  be  sent  down 
among  little  boys  in  the  slums,  to  keep  them  from  becom 
ing  anarchists,  like  the  man  you  saw  them  taking  to 
jail." 

' '  And  does  money  keep  men  from  being  anarchists  ?  ' ' 

'  *  Yes,  enough  of  it  will  —  and  sometimes  make  them 
anarchists  of  another  sort. ' '  The  old  man  laughed,  and 
Howerson  gazed  at  him,  astonished,  as  man  ever  is  when 
he  hears  an  unexpected  truth. 

Whateley  pretending  the  strain  of  a  heavy  weight, 


74  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

lifted  the  boy,  stood  him  near  the  desk  and  gave  him  a 
pen.  "  Now  you  are  all  right.  Go  ahead."  The  boy 
looked  at  the  check,  lying  in  front  of  him. 

"  And  if  all  the  money  that  this  will  get  was  spread 
out,  it  would  look  green  like  the  sea,  wouldn  't  it  ?  But  if 
I  didn  't  know  how  to  sign  my  name  I  couldn  't  get  any  of 
it,  and  that  would  make  an  anarchist  out  of  me."  He 
wrote  his  name,  and  then  looked  at  Howerson,  the  old 
look  gone  from  his  countenance.  "  Do  you  like  my 
grandpa?  " 

"  Oh,  very  much." 

"  And  me  too?  " 

"  Yes,  I  like  you  ever  so  much.  I  think  you  are 
great. ' ' 

"  And  could  you  sign  your  name  and  get  as  much 
money  as  I  can  ?  ' : 

"I'm  afraid  not,  just  at  present." 

"  But  if  you  hook  up  with  my  grandpa  you  can." 

The  old  man  laughed.  "  But  Calvin  you  are  keeping 
us  from  'hooking  up,'  as  you  term  it.  And  now,  Mr  —  " 
he  looked  about  and  found  Howerson 's  card  — ' '  And 
now,  Mr.  Howerson,  you  must  pardon  me  for  this  excur 
sion  off  into  sentiment,  for  I  assure  you  that  this  little 
fellow  means  more  to  my  heart  than  all  the  business  in 
the  world.  I  trust  —  ' ' 

"  You  can  trust  Mr.  Howerson,  can't  you,  grandpa?  " 

' '  Ah, ' '  said  "Whateley,  * '  he  has  already  caught  your 
name.  Yes,  Calvin,  I  think  I  can  trust  your  friend  How 
erson,"  and  the  flint-hearted  man  of  bonds  laughed,  and 
the  boy,  echoing  his  grandfather's  chuckle,  bounded  over 
to  Howerson 's  chair. 

"  Will  I  be  big  and  strong  like  you?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Yes,  bigger  and  stronger." 

The  boy  clapped  his  hands.     "  Then  we'll  go  every- 


THE  MISSION  OF  THE  BULLDOG  75 

where  with  grandpa,  for  he'll  be  old  then,  and  if  any 
body  tries  to  hurt  him  we'll  jump  on  'em  and  beat  'em 
up,  and  it'll  be  fun  for  us  because  we'll  be  so  strong." 

"Whateley  sat  with  his  eyes  half  closed,  listening  like 
an  old  hawk,  and  when  no  longer  he  heard  the  music  of 
the  child's  voice,  he  started  out  of  his  dreaming  and 
looked  about  him  as  if  he  had  been  in  a  slumber.  ' '  Cal 
vin,  Mr.  Howerson  and  I  must  now  get  down  to  business. 
Come  over  here  to  me."  The  little  fellow  obeyed,  look 
ing  back  with  an  admiring  eye  upon  the  strong  man ;  and 
Howerson  gazed  at  him,  strange  emotions  pulling  at  his 
heart ;  and  he  heard  the  seeming  of  a  muffled  voice,  call 
ing  upon  him  to  run  away  and  hide. 

Whateley  spoke :  ' '  Now,  Mr.  Howerson,  I  hardly  know 
what  to  say  to  you.  You  come  with  merely  a  suggestion, 
but,  after  all,  that  is  what  inspiration  is,  a  suggestion. 
A  plodder  can  fill  in  details.  In  business  a  word 
sometimes  opens  the  door  of  great  possibilities.  I 
remember —  " 

Jim  interrupted  him  with  a  card.  He  looked  at  it  and 
got  up,  "  Senator  Galvin.  I  must  see  him  at  once. 
Show  him  in  there."  He  gestured,  and  as  Howerson 
arose  he  added  quickly,  "  Oh,  no,  don't  go,  Mr.  Hower 
son.  I  wish  to  talk  over  your  scheme  with  you.  Little 
Calvin  says  I  can  trust  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  Thank  Calvin,  Mr.  Howerson,"  and  the  old  man 
hastened  from  the  room. 

"  Grandpa  can  walk  fast,  but  I  don't  think  he  can 
run  as  fast  as  you  can,  Mr.  Howerson."  Little  Calvin 
came  over  to  the  visitor's  chair.  "  I'll  bet  you've  got  a 
big  muscle,  and  when  the  summertime  comes  and  we  can 
play  on  the  grass,  you'll  show  me  how  you  can  jump, 
won't  you?  " 


76  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

And  the  muffled  voice  cried  into  the  strong  man's 
heart,  "  Hide  yourself,  now!  "  And  he  got  up  to  rush 
from  the  room,  but  the  boy  clung  to  him.  "  No,  you 
mustn't  go  till  grandpa  comes  back.  Don't  you  know  he 
told  you  to  stay  ?  ' '  And  the  muffled  voice  broke  out  in 
soft  laughter  and  breathed  warm  upon  his  heart. 

"  Oh,"  shouted  the  boy,  "  you  were  just  playing  like 
you  were  going  away!  "  Toeing  an  imaginary  mark  on 
the  carpet,  he  swung  his  arms  and  leaped  as  far  as  he 
could;  and  then  to  his  friend  he  said:  "  Now  let  me 
see  how  far  you  can  jump."  Howerson  began  to  beg 
off,  but  the  little  fellow  stroked  him  with  persuasion  in 
his  touch,  as  high  up  as  he  could  reach.  ' '  Please ! 
Grandpa  won 't  care.  Please !  ' '  Howerson  got  up,  toed 
the  invisible  mark  drawn  by  the  boy,  and  jumped  as  far 
as  he  could,  falling  back  upon  his  down-spread  hands, 
and  the  boy  shrieked  in  glee,  and  Jim,  looking  in,  shook 
his  big  muscles  with  laughter. 

' '  Now  you  may  sit  down  again, ' '  said  the  happy  little 
tyrant;  and  Howerson  obeyed,  his  sunny-haired  ruler 
hovering  near.  "  Do  you  know  my  Aunt  Rose?  " 

' '  I  'm  afraid  not.    Who  is  your  Aunt  Rose  ?  ' : 

"  Why,  she's  just  Aunt  Rose,  papa's  sister.  And  if 
you  don't  know  her,  you  don't  know  why  grandpa 
named  her  Rose.  It  was  funny.  Long  time  ago,  when 
grandpa  was  about  as  big  as  me,  there  was  an  old  black 
woman,  blacker 'n  any  black  woman  now,  named  Rose; 
and  she  loved  grandpa  because  he  was  poor  —  and  wasn  't 
that  funny  —  and  she  'd  bake  ginger  cakes  for  him  and 
pick  briars  out  of  his  feet  when  he  didn't  have  any 
shoes,  and  a  long  time  afterwards,  when  the  old  black 
woman  was  buried  under  the  trees  where  grandpa  used 
to  sit  and  watch  her  wash  in  a  great  big  iron  kettle  — 
long  time,  and  the  doctor  brought  a  girl  baby  —  and  I  'm 


THE  MISSION  OF  THE  BULLDOG  77 

glad  I  wasn  't  a  girl  baby  —  and  grandpa  named  the  girl 
baby  Rose,  but  she  wasn't  black,  but  just  as  red  as  she 
could  be,  grandpa  said ;  and  you  ought  to  see  Aunt  Rose 
now.  She's  a  mink." 

"A  mink!    What's  a  mink?  " 

"  Why,  a  mink's  a  peach.  She'll  be  down  here  after  a 
while.  Have  you  got  a  pistol?  " 

Howerson  started.  ' '  Pistol !  What  put  that  into 
your  head,  little  man?  " 

"  'Cause  grandpa's  got  one;  and  he  keeps  it  in  this 
drawer  right  over  here." 

He  ran  over,  began  to  pull  at  a  drawer  of  the  desk, 
and  Howerson  cried  out,  "  Don't  —  don't  open  it, 
please. " 

He  came  back  from  the  desk,  laughing.  "  But  you 
ain't  afraid  of  a  pistol,  are  you?  "  A  question  of  some 
anxiety,  for  he  was  not  willing  that  his  hero  should  be 
afraid  of  anything;  and  when  Howerson  assured  him 
that  he  was  not  afraid,  that  once  he  had  slept  with  a  big 
pistol  beneath  his  pillow,  the  boy's  countenance  bright 
ened,  and  he  said  in  soothing  tones :  "  I  knew  you  wasn 't 
afraid,"  and  then  he  cried  out,  "  Oh,  here's  Aunt 
Rose!  " 

Howerson,  in  a  broken  dam-tide  of  dramatics,  swept 
himself  from  his  chair  and  bestowed  upon  Rose  Whate- 
ley  a  ' '  leading  man 's  ' '  bow,  and  the  boy,  delighted  with 
the  performance,  cried  out,  "  Aunt  Rose,  here's  Mr. 
Howerson,"  and  the  "  leading  man  "  bowed  again  and 
said:  "  Miss  Whateley,  I  gather  from  an  innocent  and 
most  charming  introduction  —  from  my  little  friend, ' ' 
and  with  a  grace  which  he  felt  was  purely  natural  but 
which  may  have  been  an  art  far  surpassing  his  own,  she 
accepted  the  overflowing  cup  of  his  courtesy : 

"  And  I  must  say  that  you  have  a  very  impertinent 


78  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

friend,  Mr.  Howerson."  To  hear  her  pronounce  the 
syllables  of  his  name  gave  music  to  them,  tingled  him  in 
meshes  of  forgetfulness  of  all  missions  save  the  desire  to 
be  a  gentleman  in  her  sight.  "  As  you  doubtless  know, 
father  spoils  him.  Where  is  father,  Calvin?  " 

"  In  with  a  guy." 

"  A  what?  " 

"  A  man." 

"  He  is  a  most  gracious  little  friend  I  assure  you," 
said  Howerson. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  she  was  a  mink?  "  the  boy  shouted. 

Howerson  laughed  off  his  theatric  embarrassment,  and 
Miss  Whateley,  picturesque  in  a  confusion  not  much  of 
which  she  really  felt,  looked  at  him  for  explanation. 
"  In  your  absence,  Miss  Whateley,  he  has  been  paying 
you  figurative  compliments.  From  man  a  compliment 
may  be  prompted  by  self  interest,  but  from  a  boy  it  is 
generally  sincere." 

It  was  but  natural  that  the  quondam  blank  verse  barn 
stormer  should  feel  grateful  to  himself  for  this  speech, 
and  he  was,  waiting  rather  victoriously  for  her  reply, 
which  came  after  a  moment  of  graceful  hesitancy :  ' '  Yes, 
unless  too  early  the  boy  has  begun  to  play  the  man." 

To  that  his  secret  answer  was,  "  By  Jove,  you  would 
have  made  an  actor  of  me,"  but  he  spoke  the  lines  that 
occasion  set  down  for  him : ' '  Your  observation  is  shrewd, 
Miss  Whateley,  and,  offered  as  an  amendment,  I  accept 
it." 

1 '  Thank  you, ' '  and  this  with  a  play  of  eyes,  voice  and 
head  that  pauperized  his  dramatic  resources.  "  In  rare 
instances  modern  gallantry  on  the  part  of  man  yields 
without  argument  —  with  a  bow,  a  gracious  glimpse  of 
the  romantic  past." 


THE  MISSION  OF  THE  BULLDOG  79 

The  actor  mused,  ' '  She  is  over-topping  me. ' '  But  he 
came  back  with:  "  But  perhaps  modern  man  is  as  gal 
lant  and  doubtless  as  romantic  as  modern  woman  will 
permit  him  to  be." 

' '  Yes, ' '  she  admitted,  ' '  but  not  so  truthful  as  modern 
woman  might  desire." 

And  the  actor  was  thankful  that  to  him  was  quickly 
assigned  the  line,  "  Ah,  the  more  truthful  the  more 
brutal  and  therefore  the  less  gallant." 

Now  he  was  more  than  willing  to  bow  himself  off  the 
stage  into  naturalness ;  and  so  quick  sometimes  is  grati 
tude  that  he  was  thankful  for  the  ring  of  little  Calvin's 
voice,  before  he  had  caught  the  meaning  of  his  words: 
' '  Why  don 't  you  shake  hands  with  her  ?  ' ' 

' '  I  shall  most  gladly,  Calvin,  if  your  suggestion  meets 
with  Miss  Whateley's  favor." 

Eose  offered  her  hand  frankly,  and  when  Howerson 
felt  its  warm  and  generous  clasp,  all  posing  was  gone, 
and  a  man  and  woman  stood  looking  into  each  other's 
eyes.  ' '  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you, ' '  she  said. 

"  I  thank  you.  You  forgive  offenses  that  you  know 
not  of  —  you  are  generous.  I  thank  you. ' ' 

Again  Calvin:  "  I  wrote  a  check  for  a  thousand  dol 
lars,  and  Mr.  Howerson  is  a  heap  stronger 'n  me,  but  he 
said  he  couldn't." 

"  I  could  write  a  check,"  said  Howerson,  "  for  a  mil 
lion  but—" 

And  Rose  broke  in:  "  Then  you  are  not  so  different 
after  all  from  the  average  man  who  devotes  his  life  to  — " 

"  But  it  would  not  be  honored  for  ten  cents." 

Her  countenance  reflected  a  real  interest  in  him,  in 
such  a  confession  from  a  man  in  this  atmosphere  of  com 
mercialism  ;  and  she  said,  ' '  Oh,  how  romantic. ' ' 


80  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Is  it  ?  "  spoke  Howerson  with  a  step  back  toward  the 
stage  of  old  Colley  Gibber.  "  Then  I  must  be  a  troub 
adour,  bawling  a  ballad." 

"  Grandpa  keeps  his  pistol  in  one  of  these  drawers, 
don't  he,  Aunt  Rose?  " 

"  Come  away  from  the  desk,  Calvin,"  she  commanded 
him.  He  obeyed,  ran  to  Howerson,  took  him  by  the 
hand;  and  at  that  moment  Big  Jim  bellowed:  "  The 
nurse  has  called  for  Master  Calvin." 

"  Oh,  Gee,"  the  boy  protested,  pulling  at  Howerson. 
* '  But  you  '11  come  to  see  me  some  time,  won 't  you  ?  ' ' 

Howerson  caught  him  off  the  floor,  in  his  arms, 
bowed  over  his  radiant  head.  "I  —  I  hope  to  see  you 
again.  You  —  you  don't  know  what  you  have  done  for 
me.  We  will  go  fishing  together." 

As  Howerson  put  him  down  the  little  fellow  cried  out, 
"You  bet!  That  will  be  great,  won't  it?  "  and  running 
to  the  door  he  looked  back  and  shouted,  "  Ain't  she  a 
mink?  " 

"  He  is  dear,  sweet  and  impudent,"  said  Rose,  fair 
goddess  named  in  commemoration  of  the  blackest  of 
women.  "  Won't  you  sit  down?  "  He  sat  down.  Had 
she  said,  "  Won't  you  throw  a  backward  somersault?  " 
he  would  have  attempted  it.  He  had  come  as  his  own 
tragedian ;  she  could  have  made  of  him  her  own  clown. 

He  gazed  at  her  as  she  enthroned  herself  on  her 
father's  chair,  as  she  swept  his  papers  aside,  and  leaned 
with  her  arms  on  the  desk;  and  he  mused,  "  How  easy 
you  are  to  get  acquainted  with,"  and  this  trite  reflec 
tion  induced  the  fear  that  having  out-acted  him  she  was 
now  making  him  stupid.  He  was  not  to  be  obscured 
by  mere  sex.  He  was  acquainted  with  women,  the  too 
lean  or  too  fat  missionary  order  who  had  visited  his 


THE  MISSION  OF  THE  BULLDOG  81 

father 's  house ;  the  violet-scented  set  of  the  cheap  stage ; 
with  simpering  virtue,  with  brief  dwellers  in  Hell's  red- 
lighted  acre.  But  now  he  was  eye  to  eye  with  worldly 
grace,  innocent  shrewdness,  unpretentious  millions;  and 
he  thought  of  the  valkyric  maiden  who  rejected  the  wooer 
who  could  not  throw  her  down;  and  he  mused,  "  It 
would  take  a  husky  caperer  to  trip  you,  my  lady." 

She  spoke :  ' '  You  astonish  me  when  you  acknowledge 
your — " 

"  Poverty,"  he  broke  in.    "  But  it  is  true."' 

' '  I  don 't  see  how  that  can  be.  You  are  so  well  armed 
to  fight  with  the  world.  And  success  means  fight.  Do 
you  remember  Isopel  Berners?  " 

"  Let  me  think  a  moment.  Oh,  a  woman  with  a 
donkey  and  a  cart,  one  of  old  George  Sorrow's  char 
acters.  Yes,  I  recall  her." 

"  Well,  she  said,  '  The  world  has  a  white  feather  in 
its  tail.'  And  I  should  think,  Mr.  Howerson,  that  you 
are  amply  endowed  to  pluck  it  out." 

' '  But  perhaps  I  have  been  a  coward  too,  Miss  "Whate- 
ley.  Old  Poverty  has  many  cowardly  children. ' ' 

"  Very  true,  but  surely  you  aren't  one  of  them.  I 
happen  to  know  what  poverty  is. ' ' 

"  Yes,  your  kindly  eyes  have  seen  it  in  the  street." 

' '  Not  only  that,  but  from  experience. ' ' 

"  Know  poverty  from  experience?  Impossible,  Miss 
Whateley.  Your  father  was  a  millionaire  before  you 
were  born." 

' '  But  I  have  suffered,  in  rags. ' ' 

In  astonishment  he  gazed  at  her,  waited  for  a  smile 
to  make  jest  of  her  declaration,  but  her  eyes  were  sad, 
as  if  looking  back  upon  a  trouble.  "  Last  night  I  was 
clothed  in  tatters  —  in  a  drawing  room  drama.  .  .  . 


82  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Oh,  but  let  me  assure  you  that  on  my  part  it  was  almost 
desperately  serious,  and  you  mustn't  laugh,  mustn't 
smile." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  thought  you  were  stringing 
me  on  the  skein  of  your  art. ' ' 

"  But  I'm  not.  I  was  playing  the  part  of  a  ragged 
and  deserted  woman ;  and  when  I  had  put  on  those  rags 
and  looked  into  a  mirror  at  myself,  imagination  over 
powered  me  and  I  hated  society,  despised  civilization ; 
and  in  the  bitterness  of  my  humiliated  soul  I  wept,  so 
crushed  was  my  heart;  and  as  soon  as  the  performance 
was  over  I  hastened  to  adorn  myself  in  silks  and  laces, 
to  cure  my  bitterness.  My  eyes  were  opened  then  to  the 
soul-effect  of  clothes.  I  believe  that  rags  would  crush 
the  proudest  spirit." 

Howerson  was  on  his  feet.  "  Yes,  clothes,  outward 
evidences  of  gentility,  change  us,  turn  us  from  our 
deeply  sworn  obligations.  But  true  character,  justice  to 
the  millions  of  toilers,  must  triumph  over  —  ' ' 

Whateley  entered.  Rose  got  out  of  his  chair.  How 
erson  stood,  a  mute.  The  young  woman  spoke.  ' '  Little 
Calvin  introduced  his  friend,  Mr.  Howerson,  and  we  have 
been  talking  about  the  effect  of  clothes."  , 

The  old  man  smiled  and  remarked,  "  Yes,  and  learn 
edly,  no  doubt.  Mr.  Howerson,  I  beg  your  pardon  for 
having  detained  you,  and  now  to  business.  No,  you 
needn  't  go,  Rose.  .  .  .  Mr.  Howerson,  you  come  with 
out  recommendation,  but  little  Calvin  says  I  can  trust 
you,  and  I  will.  Go  to  Glenwich  as  my  representative, 
and  see  what  can  be  done.  Exercise  your  own  judgment 
and  report  progress  to  me.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
a  prize  ought  to  be  waiting  for  us  there.  I  haven't 
information  enough  to  discuss  details,  but  these  you 


THE  MISSION  OF  THE  BULLDOG  83 

can  furnish  me,  and  you  may  call  on  me  for  any  legiti 
mate  expense." 

' '  I  thank  you,  sir,  and  I  hope  that  I  may  prove  worthy 
of  little  Calvin's  confidence.  .  .  .  Miss  Whateley,  I 
shall  not  forget  what  you  have  said." 

She  offered  her  hand,  and  again  he  felt  the  warm  clasp 
of  life. 

With  a  familiarity  that  astonished  his  daughter,  the 
old  man  put  his  hand  on  Howerson's  shoulder,  walked 
with  him  toward  the  door,  telling  him  that  all  true 
recommendations  of  character  were  written  on  the 
receptive  page  of  the  countenance;  and  the  strong  man 
beguiled  of  his  sworn  purpose  drooped  beneath  the  old 
man 's  gentle  touch ;  and  into  his  brain  a  thought  from 
murdered  Duncan  burnt  its  way,  "  There's  no  art  to 
find  the  mind's  construction  in  the  face."  Then  came  a 
thought  more  burning,  for  at  the  threshold  of  his  mind 
there  stood  Annie  Zondish,  with  flaming  hair  and  words 
that  came  forth  like  sparks;  and  he  heard  his  oath  and 
saw  death  look  from  her  eyes ;  and  behind  her  he  saw  the 
bloody  countenances  of  Henk  and  Hudsic ;  and  the  voice 
that  had  laughed  warm  upon  his  heart  now  sneered  upon 
it  with  freezing  breath,  and  he  heard  the  blizzard  words, 
"  Cowardly  fool,  they  are  going  to  cut  your  throat  if 
you  weaken.  Die  a  martyr  and  not  like  a  dog." 

And  Rose  standing  near  the  desk  saw  her  father  pass 
out  with  him,  and  then  from  the  corridor  came  a  loud 
cry,  followed  by  a  pistol  shot.  She  sprang  to  the  desk, 
snatching  open  drawer  after  drawer,  caught  up  a  pistol 
and  rushed  toward  the  door. 

Whateley  entered.  "  Only  an  incident  in  the  life  of 
this  tragic  town,"  he  said.  "  A  poor  old  down-and-out 
board  of  trade  man  has  killed  himself. ' ' 


84  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSQN 

' '  Horrible.  ...  I  thought  someone  was  trying  to 
kill  you." 

He  laughed.  ' '  Why,  who  was  going  to  kill  me  ?  Surely 
not  Mr.  Howerson." 

"  No,  not  Mr.  Howerson,"  she  answered  him,  "  for  he 
is  such  a  gentleman." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  CHILL  OF  THE  BULLDOG 

In  the  midst  of  the  rush  of  the  street,  the  roaring  cas 
cades  of  impetuous  barter,  Howerson  stood,  looking 
dazedly  about  him.  From  his  grasp  the  dreamer's  suit 
case  was  torn,  trampled  upon,  stumbled  over,  but  catch 
ing  it  up,  he  sought  a  doorway  and  stood  there,  calling 
for  unity  of  his  scattered  mental  self. 

A  newsboy  cried  at  him,  and  he  gave  him  silver,  mo 
tioning  him  away  and  saying  to  him :  ' '  I  thank  God  you 
are  not  the  trumpeter  of  any  blood  I  have  shed!  " 

To  a  mate  the  boy  flashed  his  fortune,  leaped  in  ecstasy 
and  cried  out:  "  Dat  guy  over  dare  —  floppy  in  de 
head." 

Howerson  caught  the  words,  felt  them  shoot  electric 
through  his  nerves  before  he  heard  them,  and  to  himself 
he  said :  ' '  That  is  true,  for  like  a  fool  I  wait  here  to  be 
murdered."  Thus  the  actor  phase  of  his  mind  came 
back  to  him,  but  his  attitude  was  not  all  actor,  for  in  his 
sober  and  undramatic  heart  he  knew  that  the  wretches 
who  called  themselves  the  "  Agents  of  Justice  "  would 
seek  his  life. 

His  mind  flew  back  to  the  scenes  in  Whateley's  office, 
and  thrilled  him,  like  an  emotional  tune  almost  caught 
but  still  in  part  illusive ;  he  heard  the  glad  shout  of  the 
boy,  saw  the  soft  and  sadly  glowing  eyes  of  the  woman 
as  she  looked  when  she  told  of  her  rags  and  her  poverty, 
felt  the  old  man's  gentle  touch  upon  his  shoulder;  and 
then  he  heard  himself,  ' '  I  swear !  ' '  and  felt  the  blight- 

85 


86  THE  .NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

ing  look  of  Annie  Zondish  fall  glacial  upon  his  heart. 
A  woman  passed  out  near  him,  and  he  started,  but  she 
was  only  a  poor  creature,  with  a  basket  of  matches.  Ah, 
across  the  street  in  the  mouth  of  the  alley  —  was  it  not 
Henk?  Yes.  Could  anyone  mistake  that  sneaking 
slouch,  that  footpad  droop?  No,  it  was  not  he;  it  was 
a  poor  devil  with  pencils  for  sale. 

Back  from  the  many  years  gone  by  came  again  the 
newspaper  headlines  shrieking  out  the  final  proof  of  a 
world-noted  tragedy :  the  finding  in  a  sewer  of  the  body 
of  a  man  who  was  charged  with  having  played  weakling 
with  his  fellows.  The  time  was  long,  far-reaching  into 
his  boyhood,  but  now  he  saw  the  headlines,  vivid  before 
his  eyes.  And  then  he  mused:  "  But  he  stayed  to  be 
murdered.  I  can  run  away  —  and  be  a  liar  and  a  cow 
ard,  ' '  for  again  he  heard  little  Calvin 's  words, ' '  You  can. 
trust  Mr.  Howerson,  can 't  you,  grandpa  ?  ' ' 

He  straightened,  his  mind  cleared  and  he  swore,  "  By 
God,  you  shall  not  be  deceived."  With  vigor  in  his 
stride  he  joined  the  throng,  going  he  knew  not  whither, 
but  going,  striving  to  outrun  a  vague  thought  that  had 
shot  out  from  his  mind.  He  caught  up  with  it  and  it 
was,  "  I  will  go  to  Glenwich."  This  thought  invited 
companions,  and  one  of  them  came  in  the  form  of  mem 
ory,  that  in  the  elevator  going  up  two  men  were  talking 
and  one  of  them  had  said,  "  We  are  badly  in  need  of 
waterworks  at  Glenwich. "  This  chance  remark  had  in 
spired  his  answer  to  Whateley's  question.  "  What's  your 
business?  "  How  ardently  now  he  would  have  grasped 
the  hand  of  the  Glenwich  man !  His  heart  rose,  and  he 
felt  the  gladness  that  youth  feels  when  granted  a  joyous 
liberty. 

At  the  corner  of  an  alley  a  dense  crowd  was  gather 
ing,  and  pushing  his  way  through,  he  heard  someone 


THE  CHILL  OF  THE  BULLDOG  87 

say  that  a  heavy  truck  had  crushed  a  drunken  man  to 
death.  He  saw  the  man  lying  there,  halted,  gazed;  and 
his  heart  so  high  a  moment  ago  now  fell  like  a  bird 
shot  in  the  air ;  and  again  he  heard  the  voice  that  sought 
to  rule  him :  ' '  You  gave  him  money  this  morning,  com 
manded  him  to  get  drunk  and  to  kill  himself."  In 
cold  agony  he  stood,  murmuring,  "  Even  yet  you  are 
a  murderer. ' '  An  ambulance  drew  up  at  the  curb  and  a 
policeman  forced  a  passageway  for  the  men  with  a 
stretcher,  but  Howerson  refused  to  move.  "  Who  is 
he?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  the  officer  answered. 

' '  See  if  you  can  find  out  where  he  is  from. ' '  But  as 
the  men  were  lifting  the  body,  memory  came  with  kindly 
office  and  Howerson  turned  away.  The  young  man  who 
had  gone  with  him  into  the  basement  restaurant  had  red 
hair.  He  could  see  it  now,  the  light  falling  down  upon 
it.  The  dead  man's  hair  was  black. 

With  another  cause  for  gratitude  toward  Fate  he  pur 
sued  his  way,  though  not  in  such  haste,  for  now  had 
come  the  time  for  cooler  thought,  for  action  groomed 
with  definite  purpose.  Would  it  not  be  wise  to  inform 
upon  the  "  Brotherhood  "  to  protect  himself  against 
assassination?  No,  for  that  would  mean  his  own  dis 
grace.  An  old  man,  shrewdly  suspicious  of  the  world 
but  who  in  him  had  reposed  a  simple  faith,  would  mock 
his  own  stupidity;  they  would  tell  a  glorious  little  fel 
low  that  his  hero  was  a  murderer,  life's  first  shock  to 
his  confiding  soul.  Oh,  and  the  eyes  of  that  woman,  so 
kindly  when  she  bade  him  good-bye,  would  read  in  the 
red  smear  of  evening  print,  his  oath.  No,  Fate,  now 
friendly  manager  of  the  stage,  had  changed  the  cast 
and  he  must  play  his  part. 

The   villains   were   cowardly   and   might   run    away. 


88  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

But,  suppose  they  should  run  away,  and  suppose  that 
by  some  strange  efficiency  he  were  to  become  useful  to 
"Whateley,  would  he  not  live  in  eternal  fear  that  the 
aim  of  his  first  visit  to  the  office  might  be  made  known 
to  the  old  man,  to  the  boy,  the  young  woman  ?  How  easy 
and  how  natural  it  would  be  for  Hudsic,  at  a  distance, 
to  write  that  insane  oath  and  send  it  to  "Whateley. 
"  But,"  he  mused,  now  walking  slowly,  "  can't  I  prove 
that  his  faith  was  so  wisely  placed,  make  myself  so  use 
ful  to  him  that  he  would  look  upon  it  as  a  liar's  envy? 
Yes." 

Now  he  approached  the  bridge  which  he  had  crossed 
the  night  before,  when  the  young  men  passed  him,  sing 
ing  ;  and  he  halted,  with  a  shudder,  for  what  was  it  now 
that  seemed  to  freeze  him?  The  weather  had  changed, 
and  from  the  south  a  spring-like  breeze  was  blowing, 
but  what  made  him  shiver  as  if  in  a  wind  from  a  field 
of  snow  ?  It  was  that  pistol  in  his  pocket,  a  lump  of  ice ! 
He  touched  it,  and  a  horror  of  the  thing  seized  upon  him. 
He  must  get  rid  of  it,  but  caution  whispered:  "  And 
leave  yourself  defenseless  ?  ' :  Then  cooler  reason  spoke : 
"  If  they  intend  to  kill  you  it  will  be  in  a  sneaking, 
cowardly  way,  and  a  dozen  pistols  could  not  save  you." 
He  stepped  upon  the  bridge,  walked  close  to  the  railing. 
The  footway  wyas  crowrded,  no  one  would  notice  him, 
and  taking  the  pistol  from  his  pocket,  hiding  it  as  well  as 
he  could  up  his  sleeve,  he  hung  his  arm  over  the  railing 
and  opened  his  hand,  walking  rapidly.  He  heard  a  splash 
and  hastened  on,  the  breeze  from  the  south  warming 
him. 

Not  far  distant  was  a  railway  station,  and  toward  it 
he  hastened,  to  the  lilt  of  a  tune  that  his  lightened  heart 
seemed  to  beat.  He  bought  a  ticket  for  Glenwich,  train 
to  leave  within  ten  minutes.  In  a  forward  car  he  took  a 


THE  CHILL  OF  THE  BULLDOG  89 

seat,  where  he  could  smoke  and  think;  he  mused  over 
the  long  time  it  had  been  since  he  was  able  to  make  a 
railway  journey.  He  felt  as  one  must  feel  when  just 
let  out  of  a  prison  in  which  for  many  years  he  has  been 
immured  —  he  had  been  in  a  prison,  in  the  cell  of  morbid 
brooding,  but  now  in  his  regained  liberty  he  could  not 
make  clear  to  himself  the  cause  of  it  all.  So  far  as  he 
knew  there  had  not  been  in  his  family  a  victim  of 
insanity.  His  sister  Pauline  —  she  had  not  been  touched 
upon  the  brain,  touched  only  with  the  divine  gift  of  mel 
ody  ;  the  evils  that  trailed  her,  overtook  her,  were  hatched 
in  a  Puritanic  nest,  sat  upon  by  the  old  blue  hen  of 
bigotry.  If  the  gray-bearded  fossils  and  the  untempted 
old  maids  had  let  her  alone,  had  not  broken  the  doors  of 
her  modesty  and  niched  her  fair  name,  she  might  not  in 
despair  have  thrown  away  her  life.  ' '  But  no  more  brood? 
ing,"  he  mused  as  the  train  sped  along.  "  I  am  a  new 
man,  a  man  with  an  aim,  and  I  am  not  going  to  fail. 
Father  used  to  preach  of  the  new  spiritual  birth,  and  I 
have  received  a  new  psychic  baptism." 

At  the  Glenwich  station  he  gave  over  his  suit  case  to  a 
negro  porter  who  assured  him  that  the  "  Merchants' 
Hotel  ' '  had  changed  hands,  taking  him  for  a  commercial 
traveler,  knowing  shrewdly  that  among  the  wise  men  of 
the  road  a  tavern  could  have  no  stronger  recommenda 
tion  than  the  assurance  that  it  was  no  longer  operated 
under  the  former  management.  The  appearance  of  the 
town  gave  promise,  at  least  to  a  hopeful  heart,  although 
the  season  was  depressing,  just  between  the  dark  age 
of  winter  and  the  renaissance  of  spring.  The  snow  was 
gone,  and  in  vacant  lots  the  earth  seemed  dead,  as  if 
never  again  would  it  throb  with  pulsing  sap.  But 
farther  on  in  the  business  district  the  streets  were 
active. 


90  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

The  dignity  of  representing  great  capital  came  upon 
him  as  he  stepped  into  the  hotel,  with  not  enough  money 
in  his  pocket  to  pay  for  a  week's  board.  In  a  low  but 
authoritative  tone  he  spoke  to  the  clerk,  and  that  minion 
of  arrogance  toward  the  unnoteworthy  wanderer,  bowed 
graciously,  turned  the  register  on  its  pivot  and  inked  a 
pen  for  him.  Never  had  his  name  appeared  as  of  so 
much  weight  as  now  when  with  heavy  hand  he  spread  it. 
Surely  not  when  it  had  acknowledged  the  parentage  of  a 
pamphlet  of  poems  printed  by  a  Chipago  "  jobber," 
recalled  now  with  a  blush.  ' '  Room  with  a  bath  ?  ' ' 

A  look  of  astonishment.  "  Of  course."  Now  he 
turned  to  the  cigar  case  where  the  tow-headed  Miss  stood 
with  elbows  on  the  glass,  ready  to  shake  dice  with  million 
aire  gray-jaw  or  milky  youngster  whistling  the  waltz 
air  of  the  latest  blizzard  of  skirts  blown  across  the  stage. 
She  smiled  upon  Howerson,  touched  her  shapeless  swab 
of  hair  into  a  bulge  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  taking 
him  for  granted,  shoved  forward  the  dice  box.  He  shook 
with  her,  beat  her,  rare  victory;  and  picking  out  three 
cigars,  he  in  his  turn  smiled  upon  her  as  again  she  lifted 
her  mass  of  conglomerate  headgear.  But  his  imagination 
was  at  work.  He  looked  at  the  clock,  saw  that  it  was 
too  late  for  the  noontime  meal,  and  asked  if  there  were 
a  good  restaurant  near. 

"  Just  around  the  corner.  But  ain't  you  going  to 
shake  again?  " 

"  No,  haven't  time." 

"  Oh,  stingy!    Ain't  you?    Just  once  more." 

"  All  right,  just  once." 

The  dice  rolled,  he  lost,  paid;  and  she  strove  to  smile 
him  into  further  confidence  in  his  luck.  "  No,  some 
other  time.  By  the  way,  you  've  got  a  fine  river  running 


THE  CHILL  OF  THE  BULLDOG  91 

through  this  town,  but  isn't  it  rather  too  weedy  in  sum 
mer  for  drinking  purposes?  " 

"  Yes,  but  we  drink  it  all  the  same,"  she  answered, 
her  elbows  on  the  show  case. 

"  But  isn't  there  a  lake  near  town?  " 

"  Yes,  Sand  Lake,  ten  miles  out.  Haven't  I  met  you 
before?  " 

"  Perhaps  so.    Ever  in  Paris?  " 

' '  Come  off ;  what  are  you  trying  to  put  over  me  ?  But 
somehow  I  thought  we'd  met  before.  Shake  again?  " 

' '  Yes,  some  other  time.  Sand  Lake,  eh  ?  How  do  you 
get  there?  " 

"  Trolley.    You  sell  corsets,  don't  you?  " 

"  No,  garters." 

"  Come  off!  " 

"  Yes,  sometimes.  What  time  does  the  car  leave  for 
Sand  Lake?  " 

"  On  the  half  hour  —  leaves  here  and  passes  there  as 
quick  as  it  can.  You  can 't  sell  anything  there. ' ' 

'  Then    there    is    a    car    in    about    ten    minutes. 
Good-bye." 

He  went  out,  pleased  with  his  own  flippancy,  a  proof 
to  him  that  his  mind  was  alert,  freed  from  brooding.  He 
sprang  upon  the  car  before  it  had  stopped.  A  Greek 
cadence  came  into  his  mind,  singing  back  joyously  from 
the  past,  but  after  a  few  moments  of  indulgence  he 
smothered  the  golden  melody  lest  it  might  lead  him 
away,  to  chase  gauze-winged  fancies.  He  was  deter 
minedly  a  representative  of  the  unpoetic  present.  But 
from  the  hilltop  of  the  present  he  could  not  restrain  his 
mind's  eye  from  a  survey  of  the  flowering  orchards  and 
sweet,  verdant  dingles  of  the  past.  He  saw  the  early 
Yankee  youth  compelled  to  invent  because  war  or  pov- 


92  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

erty  had  placed  the  European  toy  beyond  his  reach ;  and 
he  felt  that  imagination,  which  in  the  great,  sap-flowing 
age  of  Elizabeth  had  given  itself  to  pageants  and  to 
jousts,  was  now  forcing  itself  into  commerce.  And  he 
mused :  ' '  In  all  ages  there  have  been  buyers  and  sellers, 
men  who  clip  the  coin  of  trade  and  shave  a  profit,  but 
the  world  owes  its  expansive  progress  to  the  visionist 
who  flashes  a  light  out  upon  the  desert."  This  reflec 
tion  set  him  on  keen  and  thrilling  edge,  assured  him  that 
he  must  succeed.  But  how?  There  came  his  doubt 
again,  the  Satan  not  only  of  religion  but  of  all  achieve 
ment  ;  and  on  the  head  he  knocked  the  tempter  and  saw 
his  flinty  horns  fly  into  fragments. 

At  the  call, ' '  Sand  Lake, ' '  he  got  off  and  looked  about ; 
surely  a  desolate  place,  a  landscape  of  scrub  oak.  There 
was  no  station  house,  only  a  short  strip  of  roofing,  sup 
posed  to  shelter  travelers  from  the  rain  and  the  snow. 
A  questioned  native  pointed  off  farther  toward  the  ter 
minal  of  Howerson's  wild-goose  chase  and  said,  "  The 
lake 's  over  there, ' '  and  now  on  the  native 's  part  silence, 
but  his  manner  said,  "  and  what  the  deuce  can  you 
expect  to  git  out  of  that  place,  you  plug-hatted  fool!  " 

The  explorer  found  the  lake,  a  twenty  acre  sheet  of 
water  in  a  stretch  of  sand,  evidently  the  bed  of  an 
ancient  river.  Nowhere  near  it  were  there  any  trees 
nor  any  evidences  of  grass  or  weeds.  At  one  end  was  an 
abandoned  ice  house,  sinking  into  ruin.  Realizing  that 
he  had  been  traveling  up  hill,  he  reckoned  that  the  lake 
must  lie  at  least  four  hundred  feet  above  the  town,  and 
he  argued  that  the  wind,  having  uninterrupted  sweep, 
must,  by  almost  constant  agitation,  keep  the  water  pure. 

Then  came  the  thrill  of  something  he  had  read,  he 
knew  not  how  long  ago,  that  the  water  remaining 
"  alive  "  the  longest  when  put  into  a  cask,  was  water 


THE  CHILL  OF  THE  BULLDOG  93 

from  the  Nile,  because  its  source  was  sand,  without  the 
pollution  of  vegetable  matter,  and  that  next  in  order 
came  water  from  the  Missouri  River,  for  the  same  reason 
taking  rank  of  the  Mississippi,  as  that  river  near  its 
head  flows  down  through  weedy  lakes.  Thankful  for 
this  remembered  bit,  the  adventurer  set  forth  to  find  the 
owner  of  the  lake. 

He  found  him  in  the  person  of  a  middle-aged  man  of 
rustic  though  shrewd  look,  walking  up  and  down  in  his 
dooryard.  He  introduced  himself  and  said  that  he  wished 
to  speak  a  few  words  on  business.  As  this  promised 
something  to  the  shrewd  rustic  he  led  the  way  into  his 
home  and  motioned  the  visitor  to  a  big  chair,  bottomed 
with  a  sheep 's  hide,  wool  side  up  and  much  worn. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Bice,"  said  Howerson,  "  I  understand 
that  for  some  time  you  have  been  trying  to  sell  the  tract 
of  land  surrounding  and  including  Sand  Lake."  He 
had  understood  nothing  of  the  sort,  and  the  assertion  of 
it  was  bold,  but  might  be  true,  a  chance  which  shrewd 
business  must  ever  be  ready  to  take. 

"  I  can't  say,  sir,  that  I  have  tried  very  hard  to  get 
rid  of  it.  .  .  It's  a  valuable  piece  of  property." 

"  But  the  ice  plant  failed,"  Howerson  offered. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  chap,  "  and  so  would  the  plan  of 
salvation  if  it  hadn't  been  managed  any  better  than  that 
ice  plant  was.  "Who  told  you  I  had  tried  to  sell  it?  " 

"  I  can't  recall  his  name.  I  am  a  stranger  in  this 
neighborhood.  How  deep  is  the  lake  ?  ' ' 

"  Never  found  any  bottom  in  the  deepest  place;  and 
it  could  be  stocked  with  fish  and  be  one  of  the  finest 
resorts  in  the  country." 

"  Yes,"  said  Howerson,  "  just  what  I  was  thinking. 
Now,  I  am  representing  Calvin  Whateley  and  —  ' ' 

"  What!    You  don't  say  so?  "  Mr.  Rice  suffered  him- 


94  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

self  to  cry  out,  looking  at  Howerson  with  the  wide  eye 
of  admiration. 

"  Yes,  and  Mr.  Whateley  could  turn  that  desert  into 
a  garden."  Mr.  Rice  blinked.  "  But  you  must  acknowl 
edge  that  it  is  but  little  better  than  a  desert  as  it  now 
stands.  I  don't  know  that  he  would  want  it,  there  are 
so  many  other  places  offering  better  advantages  .  .  . 
Any  neighborhood  prospers  whenever  he  becomes  identi 
fied  with  it,  and  therefore  people  everywhere  are  anxious 
for  him  to  come.  Still,  human  nature  sometimes  asserts 
itself  and  runs  up  the  price  on  him.  And  he  quits,  right 
there.  You  can't  blame  him  for  quitting,  can  you?  " 

Mr.  Rice  pondered  for  a  few  moments  and  acknowl 
edged  that  he  could  not  blame  him.  A  man  had  the 
right  to  dodge  when  he  discovered  some  fellow  trying  to 
gouge  him;  and  Howerson  thanked  him  and  said  that 
he  was  evidently  a  man  of  fair  dealing.  Then  he  added, 
' '  Let  me  see.  What  was  the  price  you  offered  it  for  — 
say,  fifty  acres,  including  the  lake?  " 

' '  Well,  there 's  something  over  sixty  acres  in  the  tract 
that  I  offered." 

"  Sixty  acres.  The  land  of  itself  is  worthless,  of 
course.  It  wouldn't  sprout  a  mustard  seed.  What  was 
your  price  at  the  time  you  offered  it  for  sale?  " 

"  Twenty  dollars  an  acre." 

Howerson  was  astonished.  "  Why,  you'd  sell  your 
best  land,  your  whole  farm,  for  that  price.  Right 
through  here  there  runs  a  very  poor  strip,  hardly  good 
for  anything."  He  began  to  put  on  his  gloves.  "  I  am 
in  somewhat  of  a  hurry  and  haven't  time  to  discuss  it 
anyhow.  The  money  market  is  too  tight  to  consider  your 
valuation.  Why,  we  could  buy  better  land  and  dig  a 
lake  for  that  price. ' ' 

Old  Rice  knew  that  the  money  market  was  close;  he 


THE  CHILL  OF  THE  BULLDOG  95 

had  never  known  it  to  be  in  any  other  condition. 
"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  sir.  I  admit  I  offered  it  for  less, 
but  the  price  of  land  has  gone  up  since  then. ' ' 

' '  But  the  price  of  water  hasn  't, ' '  Howerson  was  quick 
to  respond.  ' '  Tell  you  what  I  '11  do :  I  will  agree  to  give 
you  fifteen  dollars  an  acre,  about  what  you  asked  for  it 
in  the  first  place.  That  is,  1 11  give  you  an  order  on  Mr. 
Whateley  for  two  hundred  dollars,  for  a  thirty  days' 
option,  the  money  to  be  forfeited  by  us  in  the  event  that 
the  site,  upon  more  extended  consideration,  fails  to  meet 
approval.  The  order  will  be  equivalent  to  Mr.  Whate 
ley  's  check,  to  be  held  by  you,  and  in  case  of  our  failing 
to  come  to  specified  terms,  to  be  presented,  and,  conse 
quently  honored,  the  forfeit  money  paid  to  you. ' ' 

So  many  words  caught  the  old  fellow,  and  caught 
Howerson,  too ;  and  for  a  time  they  looked  at  each  other 
in  silence,  Howerson  feeling  that  he  had  won  and  the  old 
man  knowing  that  there  was  no  possible  chance  whereby 
he  could  lose.  "  All  right,  sir,  I'll  take  your  offer. 
"We'll  go  right  over  to  Parker,  the  notary,  and  draw  up 
the  papers.  I'm  not  up  on  this  way  of  doing  business 
myself. ' ' 

Speeding  his  return  to  Glenwich,  with  the  option 
in  his  pocket,  Howerson  hummed  a  tune,  his  first  hymn 
of  achievement.  But  off  the  car  in  the  street,  and  his 
spirit  no  longer  exhilarated  with  the  sense  of  swift 
motion,  he  began  to  question  himself.  In  giving  the 
order  for  two  hundred  dollars  on  the  vaguest  of  uncer 
tainties  had  he  not  exceeded  all  implied  authority  ?  But 
confidence  returned  from  its  short  flight,  and  he  mused, 
' '  If  I  am  to  question  every  step  I  might  as  well  acknowl 
edge  myself  a  catechism  and  have  done  with  it. ' ' 

Supper  was  on  at  the  hotel,  and  quickened  with 
hunger  he  lost  no  time  but  rather  forged  ahead  of  decor- 


96  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

ous  schedule  toward  the  dining  room;  and  "  Martha 
Washington,"  head  waitress,  catching  at  the  importance 
of  his  manner  and  the  "  business  "  in  his  look,  con 
ducted  him  to  a  large  square  table  where  sat  three  com 
mercial  travelers,  guests  of  unquestioned  honor.  This 
may  have  been  their  first  assembly,  but  what  cared  they 
for  finical  custom?  Occasion  with  them  made  its  own 
rule,  and  their  motto  was  good  fellowship.  Howerson 
dipped  into  their  talk,  and  felt  that  he  was  in  the  very 
midst  of  active  affairs.  A  big  blondish  fellow  with  a 
smile  as  open  as  springtime,  and  a  voice  as  genial  as 
June,  spoke  to  Howerson  and  inquired  his  "  line." 

"  I  am  here  as  the  representative  of  Calvin  Whate- 
ley,"  Howerson  answered,  with  a  slight  suggestion  of  his 
actor  air. 

"  Oh,  the  Big  Jolt  eh?" 

"  And  yours?  " 

"  Oh,  I  cap  the  climax  of  creation." 

"  You've  got  me." 

"  That  so?  Man  is  the  climax  of  creation  isn't  he? 
Well,  I  sell  hats  and  caps." 

' '  That 's  all  right, ' '  spoke  up  a  slim  fellow  with  a  big 
collar  and  little  neck,  "  but  I  am  here  to  dispute  your 
claim.  I  sell  women 's  hats. ' ' 

' '  Foiled !  ' '  cried  the  big  fellow.  ' '  How 's  business 
with  you?  " 

"  Rotten.  I've  seen  four  customers  to-day  and 
haven't  done  a  thing." 

Then  a  sad-looking  man,  verging  upon  the  "  stand- 
aside  "  age,  joined  in.  "  There's  one  thing  I  can't 
understand  —  have  asked  many  a  man  and  he  couldn't 
explain.  It's  this:  For  instance,  you  are  in  the  smok 
ing  room  of  a  sleeper  and  in  comes  a  little  Jew  so  offen 
sive  in  manner  that  hi  a  minute  everybody  is  sore  at  him, 


THE  CHILL  OF  THE  BULLDOG  97 

and  you  feel  that  he  couldn  't  sell  you  a  gold  dollar  for 
ten  cents.  But  he  goes  into  your  town  and  beats  you  all 
hollow.  He  can 't  talk,  he  has  no  personality,  no  address. 
How  does  he  do  it  ?  ' : 

"  With  spirit,"  said  the  big  fellow.  "  He  never  gets 
tired.  Not  for  a  single  moment  does  he  put  his  employer 
out  of  mind,  be  he  Gentile,  Turk  or  Hottentot.  And  he 
takes  more  chances  than  other  men.  He  convinces  him 
self  that  he's  got  the  best  line  in  the  world,  and  this 
means  that  his  customer  is  already  more  than  half  con 
vinced.  It  may  be  true  that  on  ordinary  subjects  he's 
not  a  good  talker,  but  on  the  topic  of  his  goods  he's 
supreme.  And  with  it  all  he  eliminates  himself ;  he  cares 
but  little  what  you  think  of  him  as  an  individual;  it's 
what  you  think  of  his  goods  and  his  employer. ' ' 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  about  that,"  the  sad-faced  man 
responded,  "  and  yet  I  don't  understand  it.  What's 
your  opinion?  "  He  addressed  Howerson. 

"  Well,  having  had  but  little  chance  for  observation  I 
don 't  believe  that  my  opinion  would  be  marked  with  any 
value.  I  believe,  however,  that  our  friend  here,  capper 
of  the  world 's  climax,  is  right. ' ' 

The  man  who  had  sprung  the  trap  of  discussion 
chewed  meditatively.  "  That  is  all  very  well  in  its 
way,"  said  he,  "  but  the  question  that  interests  me  most 
is,  what 's  to  become  of  us  old  ducks  of  the  road  ?  As  we 
grow  older  we  prate  on  the  subject  of  our  experience  and 
look  on  it  as  the  stock  in  trade  of  usefulness,  and  about 
the  time  the  stock  is  full,  we  are  commanded  to  step 
down  and  out.  It 's  tough,  I  'm  telling  you ;  and  what  I 
want  to  know  is,  what  can  we  do  about  it?  " 

' '  We  can  croak, ' '  said  the  big  blond. 

"  Yes,  you  can  say  that  now,"  replied  the  serious 
questioner.  "  You  are  going  up  the  hill,  but  I've 


98  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

passed  over  the  top.  It's  all  right  with  you  now,  but 
wait.  And  you  —  ' '  again  he  addressed  Howerson  — 
' '  you  remember  what  I  tell  you :  They  say  that  experi 
ence  is  wisdom,  but  I  tell  you  not  to  put  too  much  faith 
in  it.  The  blunders  of  youth  are  sometimes  worth  more 
than  the  calculations  of  age." 

"  Good,"  cried  the  blond  man.  "  Another  cup  of 
coffee,  sister;  and  say,  brother,  don't  let  the  old-age 
business  worry  you.  I  see  you've  got  a  good  mind,  and 
that 's  a  straight  flush,  I  tell  you. ' ' 

Quoth  Howerson,  and  being  representative  of  the  Big 
Jolt,  everyone  paid  heed :  "I  remember  having  read  of 
a  man  past  ninety  who,  when  asked  as  to  the  most  enjoy 
able  years  of  his  life,  answered,  '  Right  now.'  Some 
of  the  world's  great  men  have  thought  that  life's  best 
age  was  after  the  passions  had  cooled.  I  don't  believe 
it,  but  then  of  course  I  don't  know.  No  matter  how 
sweet  a  regret  may  be,  it  is  after  all  a  regret.  Success 
in  a  financial  way  is  necessary,  it  is  true,  but  I  believe 
that  if  a  man  reads  good  books  he  fortifies  his  mind 
against  the  melancholy  of  old  age.  I  know  that  this  is 
an  old-fashioned  idea,  but  it  has  fallen  within  my  obser 
vation  and  I  believe  that  it  is  true.  .  .  Let  me  thank 
you  for  warning  me  against  too  much  faith  in  experience. 
It  encourages  me,  for  I  have  had  very  little  experience  in 
any  useful  line,  and  am  therefore  rich  in  virgin 
ignorance. ' ' 

The  blond  man's  name  was  Sam  Joyce.  Good  humor 
steamed  out  of  his  warm  nature.  Trade  to  him  was  a 
continuous  "  jolly,"  and  many  a  country  merchant  had 
been  made  to  believe  that  hard  times  sneaked  away  at 
his  approach,  that  the  return  of  prosperity  was  bugled 
by  his  clamorous  laugh.  Howerson  liked  him,  walked 
out  into  the  lobby  with  him  and  bought  him  a  cigar. 


THE  CHILL  OF  THE  BULLDOG  99 

' '  Let 's  sit  down  over  here, ' '  said  Joyce ;  and  they 
deposited  themselves  in  two  big  rocking  chairs,  mon 
strous  discomforts  with  broad,  flat  arms  on  which, 
beneath  plates  of  glass,  were  advertising  cards  declaring 
the  merits  of  a  local  feed  and  sale  stable,  the  Crystal 
Laundry  and  an  undertaker's  establishment  set  off  with 
the  cut  of  a  hearse  drawn  by  two  black  horses  showing 
a  mettlesome  spirit  out  of  character  with  their  melan 
choly  vocation.  Joyce  fitted  the  end  of  his  cigar  into  the 
golden  socket  of  a  rabbit's  foot  pendant  from  his  watch 
chain,  and  with  a  snap  bit  off  the  pasty  tip.  ' '  That  fel 
low  moaning  in  there  at  the  table,"  said  he,  then  paus 
ing  to  light  his  weed —  "  he  may  not  know  it,  but  he 
is  doing  more  than  anything  else  to  shove  himself  up 
against  it ;  he 's  making  himself  old  before  his  time.  He 
has  forgotten  the  great  art  of  youth,  that  is  to  jolly 
himself.  Smart  enough,  yes,  and  that's  his  trouble; 
he's  getting  on  to  too  much  truth.  .  .  .  How  long 
do  you  expect  to  be  here  ?  ' : 

' '  I  don 't  know.  The  fact  is,  I  am  here  under  peculiar 
conditions,  as  a  sort  of  experiment  unto  myself.  On  the 
stony  road  I'm  a  tenderfoot." 

"  You  don't  look  it,  brother." 

"  I  hope  not,  but  I  am." 

"  What's  been  your  business  heretofore?  " 

"  Well,  to  be  frank  with  you,  I  thought  I  could  act, 
thought  I  could  write  poetry;  but  the  sort  of  acting  I 
essayed  is  now  a  joke  throughout  the  world,  and  the 
spirit  of  Chicago  looks  on  poetry  as  a  crime.  You  must 
know  that  in  the  Middle  West  the  hero  is  the  bucket- 
shop  man  who  by  shrewd  guessing  has  succeeded  to  the 
banker's  chair." 

Joyce  laughed,  and  a  porter  wheeling  a  truck  looked 
back  at  him  with  a  grin.  ' '  I  may  not  know  that,  brother* 


100  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

but  I  know  that  a  man  isn't  much  of  a  hero  anywhere 
unless  he 's  got  the  price.  But  you  look  like  ready  money 
to  me,  and  I  don't  see  why  sharp  old  Cal  should  employ 
a  failure." 

"  I  don't  either.  It  must  be  because  I  staggered  him 
with  the  audacity  of  a  proposition." 

"  Yes,  but  men  with  staggering  propositions  are  not 
failures.  They  are  the  fellows  that  capital  is  straining 
its  eyes  trying  to  find.  If  it 's  not  asking  too  much,  what 
was  your  proposition?  You  can  trust  me,  and  I  may 
be  able  to  help  you." 

Howerson  felt  that  he  could  trust  him.  "  To  con 
struct  waterworks  in  this  town." 

"  Well,  that's  all  right.  Do  it.  With  old  Calvin  in 
the  background  you  can  pry  a  nest  of  aldermen  up  out  of 
their  seats." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  waterworks?  " 

"  At  one  time  I  knew  a  good  deal  about  distilleries 
and  breweries,  but  can't  say  I  know  very  much  about 
waterworks.  But  if  they  need  new  works  here,  and  I 
know  they  do,  I  should  think  it  would  be  easy  enough  to 
get  at  it.  Have  you  called  on  the  mayor?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't  had  time  yet.  Do  you  happen  to  know 
him?  " 

The  peal  of  Joyce's  laughter  rang  throughout  the 
lobby.  ' '  Know  old  Bill  Rodney !  Well  I  should  say  so ! 
Classmates  at  Madison." 

"  Will  you  introduce  me  to  him  to-morrow?  " 

And  quickly  came  the  answer :  ' '  Bet  your  life. ' ' 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Joyce,  and  I  assure  you  that  I 
don't  expect  any  sort  of  recommendation,  only  an 
introduction. ' ' 

"  That's  all  right,  we'll  fix  it.     But  what  sort  of  a 


THE  CHILL  OF  THE  BULLDOG  101 

stab  are  you  going  to  make  ?  Have  you  formulated  esti 
mates  as  to  the  cost  ?  ' ' 

"  Haven't  advanced  that  far.  The  whole  thing  is 
vague,  in  a  way.  Mr.  Whateley  told  me  to  come  out  and 
look  the  ground  over,  but  I  want  to  do  more  than  that ; 
I  want  to  astonish  him  with  —  well,  with  what  I  might 
term  a  mysterious  proficiency;  and  above  all,  I  want  to 
astonish  myself." 

"  Well  you  are  rather  in  the  dark,"  said  Joyce. 
"  But  Rodney  is  an  illuminator  and  may  turn  on  the 
light.  That  old  duck  in  the  dining  room  said  one  thing 
that  struck  me  as  rather  wise ;  not  to  hinge  too  much  on 
experience.  I'm  a  believer  in  inspiration.  If  inspira 
tion  didn't  play  the  most  important  part  in  the  busi 
ness  world,  you  could  train  almost  any  plodder  into  a 
millionaire." 

They  sat  for  a  long  time,  pleased  with  the  easy  inti 
macy  drawing  them  together.  An  appointment  was 
made  for  the  following  forenoon,  and  Howerson  went  up 
to  his  room,  feeling  that  he  had  met  a  friend.  Ah,  how 
different  his  bed  from  the  slab  whereon  he  had  sought 
repose  the  night  before!  And  how  different  was  his 
morrow's  aim!  But  he  had  ceased  to  wonder.  He  lay 
listening  to  the  town  as  it  yawned  itself  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  CABIN 

Various  affairs  were  discussed  in  WTiateley's  office 
on  the  day  of  Howerson's  visit,  and  it  was  noted 
mentally  by  Big  Jim  that  the  old  man  snapped  off  a 
lagging  transaction  in  haste  to  speed  home  to  the  boy. 
The  little  fellow  met  him  at  the  door,  and  the  old  man 
taking  him  in  his  arms,  carried  him,  both  laughing,  up 
the  stairs  and  into  as  strange  a  shrine  as  was  ever  built 
in  melancholy  reverence  for  the  past. 

While  workmen  were  hewing  the  granite  blocks  that 
entered  into  the  construction  of  Whateley's  mansion, 
there  was  on  its  way  from  North  Carolina  a  log  cabin 
to  be  incorporated  within  those  ponderous  walls,  the 
cabin  in  which  the  old  Scotch-Irishman  had  been  born. 
Every  stick  of  timber,  bit  of  flooring,  hearthstone,  had 
carefully  been  numbered,  and  there  it  was,  the  same  old 
room,  with  its  four  small  windowpanes,  the  old  slab 
mantel  with  the  same  clock,  but  silent,  with  a  drunken 
soldier's  bullet  hole  through  its  vitals. 

In  one  corner  was  a  table  that  Whateley  had  seen  his 
father  fashion  with  an  axe  and  a  saw ;  and  there  by  the 
broad  fireplace  was  the  low  rocking  chair  wherein  his 
mother  had  sat  in  the  evening,  year  after  year,  looking 
into  the  fire,  dreaming  of  the  rest  to  come,  singing  softly 
her  sweet  hymn  of  praise.  And  the  old  man's  chair  was 
there  too,  made  of  bent  hickory,  and  the  boy's  stool 
whereon  he  sat,  dreaming  his  dreams,  not  of  rest  but  of 
strife.  Over  to  the  left  of  the  fireplace  and  back  against 

102 


THE  CABIN  103 

the  log  wall  chinked  with  yellow  clay,  was  the  old  bed, 
and  shoved  beneath  it  the  trundle-bed  wherein  the  boy 
had  slept,  where  his  dreams  of  the  coming  fight  with 
men  were  prolonged,  with  his  eyes  open,  watching  the 
shadows  as  the  blaze  of  the  dying  fire  rose  and  fell. 

This  room  was  called  "The  Cabin,"  but  it  was  known 
to  be  a  sanctuary,  whose  threshold  was  never  crossed  by 
a  servant  of  the  house,  except  old  Paul,  who  kept  the 
shrine  in  order.  This  old  man,  officially  a  butler,  was 
a  worshiper  of  the  past,  not  only  his  own  but  anybody 's, 
knowing  that  the  present  was  a  mistake.  In  the  earlier 
days  of  the  board  of  trade  he  had  made  a  curbstone 
cleaning  of  a  few  thousand  dollars.  For  a  short  time 
he  was  the  richest  man  in  town,  but  he  plunged,  lost 
and  went  whining  to  Whateley,  who  told  him  that  he 
was  only  an  ordinary  fool,  which,  after  a  mild  protest 
he  accepted  as  a  fact.  Whateley  asked  him  what  had 
been  his  business  before  taking  upon  himself  the  career 
of  a  fool,  and  he  answered  that  in  Ireland  he  had  been 
a  butler,  but  to  an  Orangeman,  as  he  had  inherited  the 
Protestant  faith. 

1 '  If  I  give  you  a  job  as  butler  I  suppose  you  'd  be  too 
religious  to  lie  for  me,"  Whateley  had  said,  and  had 
received  in  answer,  "  Well,  sir,  that  may  be  your 
opinion,  but  I  have  my  own."  And  since  that  time  he 
had  served  in  the  Whateley  home,  contented  enough  with 
his  light  work,  but  always  with  a  sad  eye  turned  back 
upon  the  time  when  in  a  restaurant  he  had  ordered  a 
meal  regardless  of  the  prices  set  forth  on  the  bill  of  fare. 

In  this  sacred  fane  Rose  often  spent  an  evening.  Her 
mind  could  grasp  the  tender  sentiment  attaching  to 
those  homely  things,  and  she  was  ever  welcome,  but  for 
her  brother  Dan,  the  lawyer,  they  held  a  weak  and  shal 
low  meaning.  His  wife  Harriet,  with  her  nerves,  had 


104  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

been  only  once  a  visitor,  and  she  had  said,  though  not 
within  hearing  of  the  old  man,  "  Oh,  what  a  dreary, 
depressing  place."  Her  cause  to  despise  it  was  kin  to 
the  cause  of  Whateley's  reverence.  She  knew  that  her 
mother  had  been  born  and  reared  in  a  log  cabin  on  the 
banks  of  the  Ohio,  that  her  father  had  sold  catfish  caught 
on  a  trot-line,  humble  apprenticeship  of  one  whom  fate 
had  designed  to  smoke  sturgeon  by  the  shipload. 

Paul  had  not  expected  his  master  at  so  early  an  hour, 
and  in  the  fireplace  the  logs  had  not  been  set  ablaze. 
But  as  nimbly  as  age  would  permit  he  hastened  to  dis 
charge  this  office.  "  Take  your  time,"  said  Whateley, 
sitting  down  in  the  hickory  rocker  with  the  boy  on  his 
knee.  "  This  is  a  sort  of  preliminary  visit,  isn't  it, 
Calvin?  Yes,  and  we'll  sit  here  a  little  while  and  then 
go  down  to  the  dining  room  and  see  the  folks  and  make 
a  pretense  of  eating  dinner  with  them,  but  you  and  I 
all  by  ourselves  will  cook  our  dinner  here  on  the  fire  — 
dinner,  no !  Supper !  Dinner  be  blowed  for  us !  " 

' '  Yes, ' '  the  boy  cried  out  of  happy  experience,  ' '  and 
we'll  broil  long  strips  of  bacon  on  the  coals." 

' '  Won 't  we  though !  ' '  the  old  man  laughed. 

' '  Uh-huh !  And,  grandpa,  we  '11  pretend  like  the 
soldier  has  just  shot  the  hole  through  the  clock ;  and  then 
make  like  the  wind's  blowing  hard  and  it's  awful  cold 
outside,  and  I'll  go  to  the  door  and  look  out  and  see  the 
cavalry  galloping  down  the  road,  to  fight  somewhere  just 
at  daylight,  like  they  did  when  you  was  a  boy  not  much 
bigger 'n  me  —  won't  we?  " 

"  Yes,  Lord  bless  you.  And  old  Paul  must  stay  out 
side  and  watch  that  one  sheep  penned  up  in  the  stable 
and  shout  loud  if  he  sees  those  fellows  from  over  the 
creek  trying  to  steal  him.  Yes,  indeed,  we  '11  fix  all  that. ' ' 

Old  Paul  was  down  on  the  hearth,  blowing  the  fire, 


THE  CABIN  105 

and  he  looked  up  with  a  nod  and  a  grin.  He  had  played 
in  their  drama  many  a  time  and  had  in  wage  received 
many  a  gold  piece.  He  knew  that  when  his  master  crossed 
this  threshold  he  was  a  different  man,  with  no  grudge 
against  the  men  who  had  tried  to  crush  him.  ' '  You  can 
leave  that  sheep  to  me, ' '  the  old  fellow  said.  ' '  And  I  tell 
you  the  bloke  that  takes  him  will  have  to  take  my  skelp  at 
the  same  time.  Mr.  Whateley,  sir,  I  was  just 
thinking  that  I  never  saw  a  six-year-old  boy  that  can 
talk  as  plain  as  Master  Calvin.  It's  a  marvel,  sir,"  and 
as  old  Paul  got  up  he  pocketed  a  piece  of  money,  the 
reward  of  flattery,  but  of  truth  at  the  same  time,  a  rare 
coincidence. 

In  the  dining  room  Whateley  greeted  his  son  and 
daughter-in-law  with  his  emotions  under  perfect  con 
trol,  if  indeed  he  felt  any.  He  asked  a  few  questions; 
Harriet  as  to  the  pictures  she  had  seen,  and  Dan  con 
cerning  any  noted  lawyer  whom  he  might  have  chanced 
to  meet  abroad.  Harriet  had  gazed  upon  the  genius- 
colored  walls  of  the  Vatican  till  her  nerves  had  warned 
her  to  beware  lest  in  ecstasy  she  might  expire. 

"  In  that  event,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  don't  think 
I'd  risk  looking  at  them  very  long." 

"  Oh,  they  might  not  have  that  effect  on  you,"  Har 
riet  cried.  ' '  Your  nerves  are  so  strong. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  maybe  so.  I  hear  now  that  art  is  an  improve 
ment  on  nature,  that  nature —  " 

And  little  Calvin  shouted,  ' '  Nature 's  a  mutt. ' ' 

"  Just  about  what  they  say,  Calvin,"  Whateley 
laughed.  "  Rose,  my  dear,  this  reminds  me  that  I  never 
heard  you  say  much  about  the  art  of  Italy." 

"  It  was  because  I  was  not  capable  of  judging  it, 
father,"  she  replied.  "  I  love  it,  as  every  soul  must, 
but  it  strikes  me  dumb.  The  most  of  my  woman 


106  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

acquaintances  are  both  art  and  literary  critics,  but  I  am 
not."  Harriet  looked  up  in  astonishment.  "  Why 
should  I  be?  "  Rose  continued.  "  Opportunity  doesn't 
make  critics  any  more  than  it  creates  genius. ' ' 

11  Familiarity  compares,"  Harriet  observed. 

' '  Very  true  and  very  good, ' '  said  Rose.  ' '  But  famil 
iarity  with  a  school  sometimes  breeds  contempt  for 
originality.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  very  few  critics  in 
any  line  are  capable  of  impartial  judgment  of  anything 
west  of  them.  Paris  and  London  smile  at  New  York 
art,  and  the  New  Yorker,  especially  if  he  has  come  out 
of  the  west,  knows  that  nothing  good  can  come  out  of 
Chicago." 

"  Old  Chi,"  shouted  the  boy. 

His  mother  sighed  and  looked  at  the  old  man.  "  I 
wonder  where  in  the  world  that  boy  can  pick  up  so  much 
slang.  It  grieves  me  nearly  to  death. ' ' 

"  Father  says  Old  Chi,"  said  the  boy. 
i     "Daniel!"    Harriet   telegraphed   to   him   with   her 
nerves,  reading  out  this  dispatch,  "  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
bring  such  expressions  home  from  the  state's  attorney's 
office.    They  are  shockingly  vulgar." 

The  lawyer  smiled  •  good-humoredly,  said  that  he  did 
not  remember  to  have  brought  vulgar  expressions  home ; 
and  his  wife,  having  now  led  herself  to  the  top  of  accus 
tomed  ground,  to  the  crest  of  her  hillock  of  aesthetic 
deprecation,  uttered  her  expected  complaint :  "I  don 't 
see  why  you  want  to  stay  in  that  dreadful  place.  It 
is  suited  to  the  dignity  of  only  the  average  politician, 
and  ought  to  be  shunned  and  shuddered  at  by  a  man 
of  your  resources.  Political  aspiration  indeed!  " 

The  lawyer  spoke:  "  It's  the  front  steps  leading  to 
the  governor's  office,"  he  said,  "  and  the  governor's 
office  is  the  ante-room  of  the  United  States  Senate.  Look 


THE  CABIN  107 

at  some  of  the  richest  men  in  the  country ;  their  ambition 
is  to  get  into  the  Senate.  Mere  money  doesn't  satisfy 
them." 

' '  And  yet, ' '  said  old  Calvin.  ' '  Ingalls  of  Kansas,  one 
of  the  keenest  —  one  of  the  great  orators  of  his  day  — 
declared  not  long  before  his  death  that  if  he  had  his  life 
again  before  him  he  would  devote  it  to  money.  All  his 
eloquence,  all  his  sharp  sarcasms  had  failed." 

He  turned  his  eyes  not  upon  Dan  but  upon  Rose,  and 
she  spoke  her  opinion:  "  His  sharp  sarcasms  couldn't 
make  him  happy.  ...  I  believe  Dan  '11  do  something 
one  of  these  days." 

"  Good  for  you,  Rose,"  cried  the  lawyer,  and  with 
more  fervor  than  his  wife  appeared  to  deem  necessary. 
* '  And  store  this  up  in  summer  along  with  your  furs :  I 
am  going  to  astonish  the  natives  after  a  while." 

Old  Calvin  indulged  his  scythe-blade  smile.  "  I 
believe  they  store  furs  to  keep  the  moths  out.  Did  you 
say  to  put  it  among  the  furs,  Dan  ?  ' : 

"  That's  all  right,  dad,"  the  lawyer  replied.  "  Sis 
is  right  and  you'll  see  it.  Why,  I  should  think  the  fact 
alone  that  I  am  not  a  snob  ought  to  count  for  something. ' ' 

Harriet  looked  at  him.  ' '  I  don 't  know  what  you  mean 
by  snob  unless  you  allude  to  persons  who  have  nothing 
and  pretend  they  have.  But  there's  something  worse 
than  snobbery,  and  it's  pretending  to  be  plebeian  when 
you  are  not." 

Rose  caught  her  father's  sly  wink,  and  the  boy,  quiet 
for  so  long  a  time,  cried  out,  "  The  boy  I  play  with  in 
the  alley's  named  Pete,  and  we  set  a  dog  on  a  cat  but 
she  got  away,  and  I  gave  Pete  my  knife  and  he  said, 
*  Bet  your  neck  you  ain  't  no  slob. ' 

' '  Speaking  of  plebeians, ' '  said  Whateley,  after  having 
chuckled  over  the  boy's  recital,  "  how  many  of  us  trace 


108  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

our  lineage  back  to  kings,  and  if  we  could,  what  of  it? 
I  was  born  with  a  hatred  for  inherited  cast.  I  believe 
only  in  that  greatness  that  a  man  creates  himself,  and  I 
have  more  respect  for  the  man  who  has  distinguished 
himself  as  a  horse  doctor  than  I  feel  for  the  man  whose 
only  claim  upon  the  public's  regard  is  that  his  father 
was  an  able  judge.  We  in  America  and  especially  here 
in  Chicago  know  that  money  can  buy  the  countenance 
of  a  king,  and  no  questions  asked  as  to  how  the  money 
was  scraped  together." 

The  lawyer's  brow  lighted  up  with  an  idea,  and  he 
said:  "  I  inherited  more  from  you,  dad,  than  merely 
the  prospect  of  money :  the  desire  to  be  distinguished  on 
my  own  hook." 

Little  Calvin  again:  "  Pete  had  a  brass  door  knob, 
and  I  asked  him  where  he  got  it  and  he  said  he 
hooked  it." 

"  Out  that  nurse  goes  to-morrow,"  quickly  followed 
his  mother. 

' '  I  can 't  blame  you  for  that, ' '  Whateley  replied  to  his 
son.  "  But  it  was  my  hope  that  with  the  means  I  have 
provided,  you  might  go  far  beyond  me  and  do  such 
great  things  that  you'd  not  be  known  merely  as  my 
son,  but  I  as  your  father." 

Rose  laughed  with  good  humor's  silvery  tinkle.  "  I 
think  he's  rather  got  you,  dad;  and  I  say  this  in  his 
favor,  knowing  that  he  believes  I'm  always  trying  to 
work  you.  Come,"  she  added  as  they  arose  from  the 
table,  "  let  us  go  into  the  library." 

In  this  great  room  of  heavy  refinement,  with  its  books 
bound  dark  in  leather,  the  girl's  presence  was  as  a  spirit 
lamp,  casting  a  soft  light.  Great  wealth  does  not  read 
many  books,  and  old  Calvin  read  not  many,  but  he  read 
a  few  and  guessed  shrewdly  at  the  meaning  of  others. 


THE  CABIN  109 

He  was  fond  of  Shakespeare,  the  tragedies  because  of 
their  magnificent  clamor.  His  daughter  read  with  him, 
at  first  merely  to  keep  company  with  his  lonely  mind, 
and  then  out  of  pure  delight,  and  where  her  father  found 
power,  she  was  steeped  in  imagery. 

Old  Calvin  had  no  liking  for  the  dainty  things  of  life, 
and  for  the  most  part  the  furnishings  of  his  home  were 
ponderous.  For  bric-a-brac  not  associated  with  his  own 
hard  past  he  cared  nothing;  and  among  the  pictures 
which  he  suffered  the  appreciation  of  his  son  or  daugh 
ter  to  hang  upon  the  walls,  there  was  but  one  that 
kindled  his  eye  with  admiration,  the  painting  of  a  ragged 
boy  taking  a  rabbit  out  of  a  trap.  It  was  a  crude  thing 
done  by  some  villager  who  knew  his  subject  better  than 
his  art ;  but  ingratiating  neighbors  ' '  loved  ' '  it,  and 
many  a  financial  favor  had  flowed  through  the  channel 
of  its  praise. 

The  old  man  was  not  set  against  business  talk  in  the 
library.  Only  in  the  Cabin  was  he  freed  from  the 
instincts  and  the  language  of  financial  conquest.  In 
the  book  room  he  liked  to  experiment  with  his  mind,  and, 
as  it  were,  to  watch  it  gambol  or  work,  himself  a  spec 
tator  of  its  moods.  To  no  productive  extent  did  he  yield 
to  his  creative  faculty,  except  as  it  might  harden  into 
material  profit,  though  sometimes  when  alone  he  indulged 
the  thrill-dalliance  of  pure  fancy,  like  an  elephant  pick 
ing  up  one  straw  at  a  time,  he  said  of  himself.  Here 
in  the  atmosphere  of  the  world's  mighty  past  of  letters, 
he  had  mused  fondly  over  the  growth  of  his  daughter's 
mind,  smiling  to  think  that  he  had  razed  out  the  new 
and  flimsy  notions  of  the  school,  and  accepting  as  a 
compliment  to  himself  the  reproach  of  a  woman  who 
had  fed  a  king,  that  Rose  thought  too  much  in  an  old- 
fashioned  way  ever  to  be  popular  in  London  society. 


110  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Dan  and  his  wife  usually  kept  clear  of  the  library, 
fearing  the  old  man's  cut  and  slash,  but  on  this  occa 
sion,  having  been  so  long  away  from  home,  they  fol 
lowed  Whateley  into  the  room.  The  boy  pounced  upon 
the  chairs,  hung  about  his  grandfather,  urging  that  it 
was  time  to  go  up  to  the  Cabin.  But  the  old  man,  who 
was  saving  the  sanctuary  for  the  "  sweet  of  the  night," 
put  him  off  tenderly.  "  Well  go  pretty  soon,  now. 
Things  are  not  quite  ready  for  us  yet.  The  fire's  got 
to  burn  down  just  right.  You  run  along  up  there  and 
sit  till  I  come." 

"  Yes,  and  I  can  play  like  you've  gone  to  the  mill 
away  over  on  the  creek  and  are  late  getting  back  because 
the  bag  of  corn  fell  off  the  horse  and  you  had  to  wait 
a  long  time  for  somebody  to  come  along  the  road  and 
help  you  lift  it  on  again."  And  he  ran  away  to  the 
theater  of  perfect  art,  the  play-house  that  convinced 
because  it  was  simple  and  pure. 

"  So  you  didn't  come  in  contact  with  many  noted 
lawyers  abroad,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  No,  not  many,"  the  assistant  state's  attorney 
answered.  "  We've  got  about  as  able  lawyers  in  this 
country  as  they  have  anywhere,  but  the  courts  in  Eng 
land  put  us  to  shame.  And  so  do  most  of  their  institu 
tions  for  that  matter.  Not  in  Parliament  is  there  a  man 
elected  by  fraud,  while  our  Senate  is  the  gambling 
house  of  statesmanship." 

"  Good.  But  I  see  that  a  naturalized  American  has 
just  taken  his  seat  in  the  British  parliament;  and  do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  it  wasn  't  money  that  put  him  there  ? 
Did  you  ever  know  any  poor  American  to  enter  Par 
liament  through  the  back  door  of  genius?  Rose  may 
answer  for  you." 


THE  CABIN  111 

"  Yes,  dad,"  replied  the  lawyer,  "  because  she  knows 
how  yom  want  it  answered.  But  blaze  away,  sis." 

"  Why  should  I  know  anything  about  it?  "  Rose  pro 
tested.  "  I've  never  known  of  many  geniuses  getting 
into  politics  anyway." 

' '  Bunk  and  money, ' '  asserted  the  old  man.  ' '  In  this 
country  if  a  man  has  money  enough  he  can  buy  a  sen- 
atorship  outright.  In  England  the  richest  naturalized 
American  couldn't,  in  the  market,  buy  a  seat  in  Parlia 
ment,  but  let  him  have  one  of  the  finest  mansions  in 
the  kingdom,  the  best  horses  and  dogs,  and  he  can  get 
there  if  he  wants  to." 

Harriet  was  sure  that  the  American  in  Parliament 
must  be  a  man  of  marked  ability.  He  was  of  an  old 
and  therefore  a  most  respectable  family.  "  I  don't  see 
why  he  shouldn't  go  to  Parliament  if  he  wants  to.  Poor 
men  make  poor  laws,  in  my  opinion.  That's  just  the 
reason  we  have  so  many  inadequate  laws  in  this  country ; 
they  are  made  by  such  irresponsible  creatures." 

The  old  man  coughed.  Upon  him  his  daughter-in-law 
enforced  the  Christian  duty  of  constant  self-restraint. 
The  cold  metal  of  a  sharp  thrust  at  her  snobbery  flashed 
in  his  mind,  but  he  blinded  his  eye  with  the  scarf  of 
charity  and  knew  her  only  as  the  wife  of  his  son,  the 
mother  of  the  boy  dreaming  by  the  fire  in  the  cabin; 
and  he  arose  to  go  to  him,  but  at  that  moment  old  Paul 
announced  Mr.  R.  Hampton  Grule.  "  Show  him  in 
here,"  said  Whateley,  telling  Dan,  Harriet  and  Rose 
that  they  need  not  go,  but  they  did,  Dan  and  his  wife 
gladly  enough  but  Rose  regretfully,  feeling  that  an  even 
ing  had  been  spoiled.  They  knew  Grule  the  banker, 
knew  him  socially,  as  uninteresting  an  old  cash  bag 
as  was  ever  tied  with  a  string.  But  Whateley  knew  him 


112  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

more  than  socially,  knew  him  well  enough  to  hate  him 
and  to  enjoy  the  fact.  To  the  extent  of  this  accommo 
dation  old  Calvin  was  grateful  to  him. 

The  banker  came  in  with  an  unctuous  smile  and 
Whateley  shook  hands  with  him  and  dropped  him  into 
a  big  leather  chair,  wondering  as  to  what  new  grafting 
scheme  he  might  have  up  his  sleeve.  The  light  glistened 
on  the  top  of  his  polished  head,  and  he  smiled,  his  pig 
eyes  gleaming.  How  glad  he  was  to  find  Whateley  so 
well  and  strong,  in  appearance  far  short  of  his  actual 
years  —  yes ;  and  though  time  was  swift  in  this  hurried 
life,  how  pleasant  to  note  at  least  an  occasional  man  who 
—  who  —  ahem !  And  all  this  time  old  Calvin  was  look 
ing  for  the  scheme  up  his  sleeve. 

Whateley  said  that  the  day  had  been  delightful,  think 
ing  of  the  home-coming  of  the  boy,  but  he  did  not  express 
the  cause  of  the  day's  charm.  Old  Grule  could  not 
have  understood.  Whateley  waited  for  the  shaking  of 
the  sleeve. 

"  Ahem!  Mr.  Whateley,  hasn't  it  often  struck  you, 
sir,  that  the  affairs  of  our  city  are  very  badly 
managed?  " 

"  Rotten  to  the  core,  if  that's  what  you  mean."  said 
Whateley. 

"  Ah,  that's  exactly  what  I  do  mean.  And  why? 
Because  they  are  under  the  control  of  politicians  instead 
of  business  men."  The  banker  ahemed  echoingly  and 
continued.  "  From  no  political  party  can  we  expect 
reform,  experience  teaches  us.  Then  what  should  be 
our  aim?  A  business  administration  of  the  city's 
affairs." 

"  I  see,"  said  Whateley,  meaning  that  he  saw  the 
scheme  halfway  out  of  Grule 's  sleeve.  The  old  skin-a-flea 
wanted  to  be  mayor. 


THE  CABIN  113 

"  Just  a  moment,"  lie  continued.  "  Let  us  approach 
the  question  with  all  possible  care.  Let  us  not  in  the 
least  be  precipitous.  Mr.  Whateley,  you  or  I  could 
operate  our  municipal  government  in  —  " 

' '  You  mean  you  could. ' ' 

"  If  you  desire  to  put  it  that  way,  yes,  I  could.  Now, 
you  and  I,  being  business  men,  get  at  the  nib  of  a  thing 
in  a  minute.  .  .  Listening  to  the  council  of  friends, 
I  have  about  decided  to  submit  —  "he  paused  impres 
sively  —  "  myself  to  the  people  as  a  candidate  for  mayor, 
making  a  short  and  swift  campaign  against  vice  and 
corruption.  And  without  self-flattery,  sir,  I  think  it  is 
to  your  interest  that  I  should  run. ' ' 

"Yes?  " 

"  I  certainly  do.  As  men  of  means  —  well,  as  mil 
lionaires,  if  I  may  employ  the  term,  you  and  I  have 
much  in  common." 

"  That's  true." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Mr.  Whateley.  And 
you  must  know  that  even  an  honest  campaign  costs  a 
good  deal  of  money.  Ahem  —  hem!  Without  any  fear 
that  my  directness  may  seem  blunt,  how  much  are  you 
willing  to  contribute  toward  this  end?  " 

Whateley  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  the  eyes  of  old 
Grule  glowing  eagerly  as  he  met  them  with  a  steady  look. 
Time  is  swift,  but  how  long  had  been  the  coming  of 
this  moment!  And  now  that  it  was  come,  Whateley 
would  toy  with  it.  Out  of  the  deck  of  lagging  oppor 
tunity  he  plucked  a  trump  card,  a  marked  card,  and 
at  his  pleasure  he  would  play  it. 

"  What  indorsement  have  you  received,  Mr.  Grule?  " 

"  Most  ample  indorsement,  Mr.  Whateley.  I  am 
assured  that  the  Commercial  Association  will  issue  a 


114  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

circular  in  my  behalf.  Then  the  churches  will  put  forth 
every  possible  effort  —  ' ' 

"  In  the  interest  of  morality,"  Whateley  forestalled, 
with  a  smack  of  the  mouth,  swallowing  a  sweet  juice. 

"  Precisely,  Mr.  Whateley.  Exactly.  And  the  news 
papers  will —  " 

"  Yes,  the  newspapers!  What  have  you  done  with 
them?  " 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Whateley,  the  newspapers  are  sick  of 
political  corruption  and  will,  as  I  was  about  to  say,  join 
with  the  Commercial  Association  and  the  churches." 

"  Very  good.  Then  you  don't  expect  them  to  print 
anything  that  might  reflect  on  your  character  as  a  man." 

"  What!  "  Old  Grule  arose  out  of  his  chair.  "  What 
did  you  say,  Mr.  Whateley?  " 

"  Sit  down." 

Grule  continued  to  stand.  "  Mr.  Whateley,  no  man 
dares  to  speak  a  word  derogatory  —  ' ' 

"  Won't  you  sit  down?  " 

"  Not  until  you  have  explained  yourself,  sir." 

"  Ah,  then  I  will.  How  much  property  do  you  own 
in  the  Red  Light  district?  I  happen  to  know  of  three 
houses  devoted  to  immoral  purposes  that  belong  to  you. 
How  about  it?  "  The  long  delayed  card  was  played. 

"It  is  false!  "  Grule  snarled,  taking  a  step  toward 
the  door. 

"  Then  I  have  good  news  for  you.  The  Register's 
office  credits  you  with  those  three  pieces  of  property, 
and  you  are  therefore  richer  than  you  thought.  Oh,  yes, 
I  know  they  are  in  your  wife 's  name  —  cowardice  added 
to  moral  depravity  —  but  the  rent  money  is  paid  to 
you,  as  I  have  taken  the  trouble  to  find  out,  and  is  in 
no  way  credited  to  her  account.  The  ordinary  eye  would 
be  deceived  by  the  Register's  book;  the  ordinary  eye  is 


THE  CABIN  115 

not  looking  for  truth.  But  in  this  instance  mine  was 
not  ordinary,  and  I  found  it.  Ha,  you  helped  to  circu 
late  the  lie  that  I  had  driven  my  son  out  to  earn  a 
living  or  starve,  didn't  you?  And  how  much  will  I 
contribute  to  your  campaign?  How  much?  Grule,  I'll 
give  you  ten  thousand  dollars  to  run  for  mayor/' 

"  Sir,  I  am  in  your  house,"  the  banker  panted.  "  I 
should  think  that  common  decency  —  ' ' 

"  How  much  common  decency  have  you  shown  to 
unfortunate  devils  that  stood  in  your  house  ?  Ten  thou 
sand  dollars!  Are  you  going  to  run?  Twenty  thou 
sand?  Your  stock's  going  up.  Ha,  I  see  you'll  not  run. 
Then  walk  —  and  right  out  the  way  you  came  in.  Here, 
Paul,  put  this  old  bellwether  of  scandal  out  into  the 
road," 

When  the  big  iron  gate  had  clanged  at  Grule 's 
retreating  heels,  old  Calvin  turned  with  a  laugh  from 
the  door,  laughed  his  way  up  the  stairs  to  the  door  of 
the  Cabin,  opened  it;  and  over  his  cold  countenance  a 
warm  light  crept,  and  softened  was  his  revengeful  heart 
with  love,  for  in  the  hickory  chair  by  the  log  fire  the 
boy  sat,  asleep. 

11  Calvin!  " 

The  boy  awoke  and  jumped  out  of  the  chair  with  a 
glad  cry,  "  Oh,  you  thought  I  was  asleep  but  I  wasn't. 
I  was  just  thinking  how  long  it  took  you  to  get  back 
from  the  mill.  Did  the  bag  fall  off  the  horse?  " 

"  Did  it  —  well,  didn't  it !  "  the  old  man  answered. 
"  Now  you  take  your  stool  and  I'll  sit  in  the  big  chair. 
.  .  .  .  Now  we're  fixed.  Bag  fall  off?  Came  in 
one  of  falling  into  a  mud  puddle,  and  I  had  to  wait  a 
long  time,  I  tell  you." 

The  boy  was  the  stage  manager,  changing  the  play 
and  characters  to  please  his  own  fancy;  and  sometimes 


116  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

his  grandfather  was  a  boy,  too,  but  always  a  little  older 
than  the  master  of  the  stage,  this  to  "  preserve  the 
unities"  as  the  wise  ones  would  write  it  down. 

"  And  did  you  bring  the  meal  home,  Calvin?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  rubbing  his  hands  as 
if  he  had  just  come  in  out  of  the  cold,  "  and  I  poured 
it  into  the  barrel  out  there  in  the  smoke  house." 

Then  the  boy  busied  with  his  silent  mind  for  a  few 
moments,  gazing  into  the  fire.  "  Now,  grandpa,  let's 
play  that  I'm  you  and  you  are  your  father,  and  just 
come  from  hunting. ' ' 

This  pleased  old  Calvin,  for  he  loved  to  look  upon 
the  boy  as  himself,  away  back  in  the  pine  woods.  ' '  Yes, 
we'll  do  that.  Yes." 

"  And  are  you  ready  now?  "  and  looking  at  the  old 
man  he  saw  that  he  was  ready  to  take  the  part,  his  eyes 
were  so  soft  and  glowing  and  his  smile  was  so  full  of 
tender  fun;  but  he  waited  till  the  old  man  had  snuffed 
the  tallow  candle  on  the  mantelpiece. 

' '  Did  you  kill  anything,  daddy  ?  But  don 't  talk  loud, 
for  you  might  wake  mother  over  there  in  the  bed.  She 
sat  here  and  sung  a  long  time,  but  when  she  saw  you 
was  so  late  she  went  to  bed,  but  let  me  sit  up." 

"  Got  the  biggest  buck  you  ever  saw,"  said  the  old 
man,  speaking  low;  "  bigger 'n  either  one  of  the  two 
that  fought  till  their  horns  were  locked,  over  in  the 
thicket. ' '  The  boy  shook  his  head,  for  he  doubted  that  the 
buck  could  be  so  big  as  that.  "  Yes,  sure  as  you  live," 
the  hunter  assured  him.  "  I  heard  the  hounds  over  on 
the  hillside,  heard  old  Drummer's  loud  mouth  and  old 
Fifer's  sharp  cry,  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  There's  some 
thing  big, '  and  I  stepped  behind  a  tree  and  waited ;  and 
pretty  soon  here  he  come,  thrashing  through  the  under 
brush.  I  didn't  wait  for  him  to  get  close,  I  tell  you; 


THE  CABIN  117 

I  brought  up  my  rifle,  and  I  says  to  her,  '  Miss  Betsy, 
now 's  your  time, '  and  she  squealed  like  a  filly.  I  rushed 
out,  and  there  about  forty  yards  away  was  the  buck  on 
the  ground,  with  a  red  spot  between  his  eyes,  and  the 
dogs  chawin'  on  him.  "Well,  he  was  so  heavy  I  had 
to  go  and  borrow  a  horse  from  Judge  Brentwood  to  fetch 
him  home;  and  to-morrow  morning  we'll  skin  him  and 
take  one  of  his  hind  quarters  over  to  the  judge. ' ' 

And  the  boy,  thrilled  by  the  oft-played  play,  cried  out 
in  smothered  voice,  with  an  eye  toward  the  bed  in  the 
corner  wherein  his  tired  mother  of  the  drama  was  asleep : 
"  The  right  hind  quarter." 

"  Yes,  and  I'll  take  you  with  me,  and  let  you  see  the 
judge's  big  pistols  that  he  used  to  fight  duels  with." 

' '  Oh,  that  will  be  fun !  ' '  and  over  him  came  a  thought 
ful  change,  and  he  said:  "I  am  still  you  and  you  are 
still  the  same,  but  they  just  came  after  mother  to  go 
to  see  a  sick  woman,  and  we  don 't  have  to  talk  so  low. ' ' 

"  Yes,"  shouted  the  old  man,  "  and  we'll  eat.  Ah, 
here's  everything  ready  —  and  after  hunting  all  day 
I'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear.  Now  we'll  just  roast  these 
potatoes  and  broil  the  meat  and  bake  an  ash  cake.  And 
how  we  will  eat !  ' ' 

The  boy  jumped  up  to  help  him  with  the  work.  In 
a  pan  on  the  table  old  Calvin  mixed  corn  meal,  pouring 
in  hot  water  from  the  teakettle  blubbering  in  a  corner 
of  the  fireplace,  the  boy  raking  out  the  coals  and  drop 
ping  the  potatoes  into  the  hot  bed.  Then  the  dough 
was  put  to  bake,  cool  ashes  on  top  lest  it  might  burn; 
and  the  bacon  curled  on  the  red  coals,  threatening  to 
burn  up ;  but  they  were  too  wise  to  permit  that  disaster 
to  come  upon  them,  these  experienced  cooks.  The  bacon 
outstripping  its  neighbors,  the  bread  and  potatoes,  was 
soon  done,  and  with  a  sharp  pine  stick  the  old 'man 


118  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

speared  it  off,  and  putting  it  on  a  tin  plate  he  set  it 
near  the  fire  to  keep  warm. 

The  potatoes  were  nearly  ready  to  be  taken  out,  and  a 
jab  with  the  pine  stick  revealed  that  the  crust  on  the 
bread  was  hardening,  when  with  an  air  of  sudden  atten 
tion  the  boy  said,  ' '  Hush,  I  think  I  hear  somebody  hello 
ing  out  in  the  road!  " 

Dropping  everything,  the  old  man  hastened  to  the 
door  and  pretended  to  open  it  and  to  thrust  forth  his 
head,  cried  out,  "  Hello,  yourself.  Oh,  is  that  you, 
Biggs?  Get  down,  hitch  your  horse  and  come  in." 
Then  the  imaginary  Mr.  Biggs  crossed  the  threshold 
and  old  Calvin  shook  hands  with  him  and  welcomed 
him  to  the  fire,  knowing  that  he  must  be  cold. 
Old  Calvin  had  now  a  double  role,  having  to  play  Biggs 
too,  but  he  was  equal  to  it. 

' '  All  well  over  at  your  house,  Biggs  ?  ' ' 

"  '  Yes,  tolerble.    Yo'  folks  well?  ' 

"  All  well,  thank  you,  Biggs.  Mother's  gone  over  to 
Purdy  's  —  sent  for  her  to-night.  Old  lady  Purdy  's  down 
again  with  pleurisy  and  it's  a  question  if  she  pulls 
through. 

"  '  Mighty  sorry  to  hear  it,'  "  said  the  sympathetic 
Biggs.  "  '  She  ain't  been  right  well  for  a  long  time. 
What,  that  ain't  yo'  son  Calvin  there,  is  it?  Why,  he's 
growed  so  I  didn't  know  him  —  bless  me  if  he  ain't 
'most  as  big  as  his  daddy  right  now.'  ' 

"  And  I  fired  off  Wilson's  shotgun  all  by  myself  and 
it  didn't  kick  me  over,  either,"  the  boy  cried  out,  and 
Biggs  whistled  his  astonishment. 

"  'You  don't  say  so!  And  I'll  lay  you'll  be  out  bear 
huntin'  along  with  us  fellers  away  over  in  the  river  bot 
toms  before  long.  Well,  I  just  stopped  in  to  warm 


THE  CABIN  119 

myself  on  my  way  from  town  and  must  be  gettin'  along 
home  to  feed  the  hogs.' 

"  Won't  you  stay  and  eat  a  bite,  Biggs? 

"  *  No,  'bleeged  to  you.  I  eat  some  herrin's  and  oys 
ters  just  before  leavin'  town,  and  ain't  a  bit  hongry. 
Well,  good  night.'  " 

And  when  Biggs  was  gone  the  old  man  said:  "  Now 
we'll  have  our  supper." 

The  table  was  spread  with  a  cloth  taken  from  a  chest 
of  drawers,  then  from  the  cupboard  came  the  pewter 
plates,  the  horn  spoons  and  the  knives,  the  one  with 
the  fawn  shank-handle  meant  for  the  boy.  And  they 
ate  their  supper,  listening  to  the  imaginary  wind  as  it 
howled  about  the  rafters.  The  clock  told  no  time  but 
they  knew  that  the  hour  was  late,  and  when  the  old 
man  had  smoked  his  cob  pipe,  dreaming,  he  saw  the  boy 
gown  himself  in  a  nightshirt  woven  of  coarse  flax. 

Then  he  undressed  and  donned  a  shirt  of  kindred  tex 
ture,  and  drew  the  trundle-bed  out  from  beneath  the 
big  bed,  the  last  preparation  for  the  night;  and  he  lay 
where  he  could  reach  out  and  touch  the  boy.  The  tallow 
candles  were  out  and  the  fire  was  low,  but  the  boy  kept 
"  character  "  till  he  dozed  into  sleep,  and  then  the  old 
man  heard  him  mutter,  "  You  can  trust  Mr.  Howerson, 
can't  you,  grandpa!  " 


CHAPTER  X. 
THE  SHREWD  MAYOR 

With  premature  warmth  of  an  advancing  season  nature 
not  only  entraps  the  farmer  but  sometimes  she  deceives 
her  nearer  disciples,  the  birds;  and  about  the  eaves  of 
the  house,  and  with  nest  straws  in  their  beaks,  the 
sparrows  were  fluttering  when  Howerson  awoke.  His 
sleep  had  been  dreamless ;  his  mind  had  died,  was  buried 
deep,  and  now  with  the  bursting  of  the  tomb  it  arose 
into  new  and  freshened  life.  As  he  dressed  himself 
he  sang.  Memories  came,  for  without  them,  the  unpleasant 
with  the  pleasant,  resurrection  would  be  stripped  of  its 
greatest  joy,  contrast  with  the  former  state.  He  sang 
and  down  the  stairs  he  whistled  his  way;  and  the  tune 
he  whistled  was  caught  down  below  and  sent  trilling 
back  to  him  by  Sam  Joyce.  They  shook  hands,  these  old 
friends  of  a  night,  chatted  and  laughed  through  break 
fast  and  then,  smoking  in  the  lobby  till  Joyce  called 
the  hour  ripe,  they  took  up  their  way  to  the  city  hall, 
the  traveling  man  steaming  good  humor  along  the  street ; 
and  as  they  drew  near  the  place,  the  "  Big  Jolt's  "  agent 
mused,  ' '  I  am  not  going  to  fail. ' ' 

Mayor  Bill  Eodney  was  a  man  comparatively  young. 
His  schooling  at  the  University  of  Wisconsin  had  been 
good  and,  coming  out,  the  refinement  of  learning  was 
shown  in  his  actions  with  men,  and  not  always  to  his 
profit.  Old  men  who  had  been  made  rich  by  holding 
land  that  had  cost  them  almost  nothing,  told  him  that 
a  collegiate  training  was  a  hobble  to  business,  and  in 

120 


THE  SHREWD  MAYOR  121 

their  dealings  with  him  they  sought  to  prove  it.  But 
after  a  while  he  began  to  knock  his  theories  on  the 
head,  and  to  study  the  methods  of  the  experienced, 
termed  the  uneducated.  Then  he  found  that  his  edu 
cation  enabled  him  better  to  sift  and  to  sort  out  the 
motives  of  his  fellow  creatures,  that  he  was  wiser  for 
having  had  ideals,  though  they  had  served  only  to  mis 
lead  him.  "  It's  better  to  be  misled  than  to  stagnate," 
he  argued.  He  beat  the  old  timers  at  their  own  game 
and  afterward  they  did  not  like  him  so  well  but  they 
admired  him  the  more ;  and  when  he  came  out  as  a  can 
didate  for  mayor,  they  elected  him. 

Up  a  flight  of  stone  steps,  down  a  hallway  and  through 
a  door  at  the  right,  brought  the  visitors  into  the  easily- 
accessible  presence  of  the  democratic  boss  of  the  town. 
At  a  desk  behind  a  railing  he  was  busy  with  his  morn 
ing's  mail,  having  paid  no  heed  to  the  opening  and 
closing  of  the  door,  when  Joyce's  cheery  call  broke 
through  his  absorption  and  brought  him  up  out  of  his 
chair.  "  Why  hello,  Sam,  old  boy,"  he  cried,  springing 
the  brass  catch  and  throwing  open  the  miniature  gate 
of  his  restricted  privacy.  "  Come  in." 

Heartily  they  shook  hands,  Howerson  waiting  on  the 
public's  side  of  the  railing,  but  he  did  not  have  to  wait 
long,  for  Joyce  reached  out  and  hauled  him  within  the 
enclosure.  ' '  Mayor  Rodney,  shake  hands  with  my  friend 
George  Howerson,  who  comes  to  you  as  the  representa 
tive  of  Calvin  Whateley." 

The  mayor  said  that  he  was  pleased  to  meet  Mr.  How 
erson  and  proved  it  by  his  manner,  money's  magic  name 
brightening  the  eye  of  welcome.  There  was  an  extra 
chair  and  the  hand  of  cordiality  pressed  Howerson  down 
between  its  accommodating  arms,  while  Joyce  looked  on 
in  evident  pleasure  at  having  brought  about  so  agreeable 


122  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

a  meeting  between  politics  and  capital.  ' '  I  Ve  got  a  good 
deal  to  look  after  this  morning  and  must  trot  along, 
Rod,"  lie  said.  "  Take  care  of  my  friend  George.  So 
long,"  and  he  was  out  and  gone  in  a  moment. 

"  A  fine  fellow,"  said  Howerson. 

' '  They  don 't  make  'em  any  better, ' '  the  mayor  replied, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  so  that  the  light  from  a  window 
fell  strong  on  his  face.  Howerson  sought  to  study  him, 
searching  for  features  of  encouragement  to  his  scheme, 
noted  his  high,  thin  nose  turned  slightly  to  one  side, 
saw  that  his  forehead  appeared  to  gather  color  as  in  two 
prongs  it  mounted  high  into  the  scrub  growth  of  his 
reddish  hair.  His  mouth  appeared  quick  and  decisive, 
a  fancy  attributable  no  doubt  to  his  rapid  utterance. 

Politeness,  and  you  might  say  discretion,  left  them  no 
choice  but  for  a  time  to  "  beat  about  the  bush,"  and 
this  they  did,  one  with  the  skill  of  a  politician,  the  other 
with  the  take-chance  of  a  novice ;  till  presently  they  came 
around  to  the  point  which  gracefully  they  had  seemed 
determined  to  avoid. 

"  Mr.  Rodney,  Mr.  Whateley  believes  greatly  in  the 
future  of  Glenwich.  Of  course  it  is  too  near  Chicago 
and  too  immediately  connected  by  easy  transportation 
ever  to  develop  along  ordinary  commercial  lines,  but 
Mr.  Whateley  sees  in  it  the  development  of  a  great 
manufacturing  center.  The  frequent  recurrence  of  labor 
troubles  in  the  larger  cities  is,  more  and  more,  tending 
to  drive  big  manufacturing  concerns  into  smaller  cities. 
In  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Whateley,  Glenwich  could,  by 
showing  the  proper  spirit,  distance  every  possible  rival. ' ' 

The  mayor  was  interested.  He  leaned  forward  toward 
Howerson.  "  Go  on,"  he  said. 

"  Whenever  Mr.  Whateley  becomes  interested  in  a 
project,  that  project,  even  if  hitherto  a  failure,  soon 


THE  SHREWD  MAYOR  123 

becomes  a  success.  No  one  questions  his  judgment,  and 
his  judgment  pronounces  a  flattering  opinion  of  your 
city." 

A  clerk  came  in  with  a  paper  and  the  mayor  tossed 
it  over  on  his  desk.  ' '  I  am  too  busy  to  look  into  it  now, ' ' 
he  said,  and  dismissing  the  intruder,  he  added:  "  Pro 
ceed,  Mr.  Howerson." 

"  Thank  you.  But  Mr.  Whateley  knows  that  certain 
things  must  be  done  to  attract  the  manufacturer;  cer 
tain  improvements  brought  about.  Rich  coal  fields  are 
near  at  hand,  to  say  nothing  of  the  advantages  of  your 
river,  but  the  would-be  investor  is  confronted  by  the 
fact  that  your  citizens  are  not  moved  by  the  spirit  of 
advancement,  that  not  until  recently  did  they  see  fit 
to  elect  a  wide-awake  mayor  and  a  progressive  board  of 
aldermen." 

The  mayor  nodded  his  appreciation  of  this  fact,  fur 
nished  Howerson  by  Sam  Joyce.  "  What  you  say  is 
largely  true,  Mr.  Howerson,  but  in  what  manner  does 
Calvin  Whateley  propose  an  identification  with  our 
city?  " 

This  was  a  shorter  cut  than  had  been  expected  "  In 
this  way,  Mr.  Rodney.  But  first  let  me  put  this  ques 
tion:  What  at  present  is  your  city's  most  vital  need? 
What  is  it  that  men  who  have  visited  Glenwich  talk  most 
about  when  they  go  away?  Your  inadequate  water  sys 
tem,  your  poison  water  drawn  from  a  weedy  river,  when 
not  more  than  ten  miles  distant  and  high  enough  to  force 
a  stream  over  a  skyscraper  in  Glenwich  is  a  lake  of  as 
pure  water  as  there  is  on  the  face  of  the  earth!  " 

Then,  without  giving  the  mayor  a  chance  to  say  a 
word,  he  told  of  the  live  water  of  the  Nile,  of  the  Mis 
souri  River  and  then  of  Sand  Lake,  whose  very  name 
signified  purity.  The  noon  bells  rang  and  he  took  the 


124  THE  NEW  MB.  HOWERSON 

risk  of  "  bluffing  "  for  his  hat,  to  go,  but  the  mayor 
held  him.  He  held  something  else,  vacant  feet,  front, 
on  quiet  streets,  and  he  knew  that  the  city  councilmen 
were  in  the  same  fix.  It  was  clear  now  that  the  "  Big 
Jolt  "  wanted  to  put  in  a  system  of  waterworks. 

"  Read  the  history  of  nearly  every  city  and  you  will 
find  it  to  be  a  record  of  short-sightedness,"  said  How- 
erson.  "  And  especially  so  with  regard  to  water  sys 
tems.  The  city  outgrows  them,  one  of  the  evils  of  your 
present  system,  while  the  supply  at  Sand  Lake  is  prac 
tically  inexhaustible,  as  you  know." 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  the  mayor,  ' '  and  I  know  another  thing, 
and  that  is,  as  soon  as  old  Rice  suspects  the  city  of 
wanting  his  lake  he  will  run  up  the  price  out  of  all 
reason. ' ' 

Howerson  smiled  indulgently.  He  did  not  tell  the 
mayor  that  in  his  pocket  he  had  an  option,  but  he  said 
that  Whateley  wrould  stand  the  expense.  The  mayor 
arose  and  Howerson  got  up,  though  for  a  moment 
he  felt  more  like  sinking  lower  down,  his  heart  having 
felt  the  smother  of  defeat,  but  relief  came  quickly. 

"  Keep  your  seat,  Mr.  Howerson.  I  am  not  done  with 
you  yet. ' '  He  walked  up  and  down  his  narrow  quarters, 
went  to  the  window,  halted  and  stood  there,  looking 
out.  He  whistled,  and  his  education  may  have  included 
music,  but  his  puckered  lips  were  tuneless.  He  turned 
toward  Howerson.  "  Well,  admitting  that  what  you 
say  is  true,  what  would  be  the  cost  of  such  an 
enterprise?  " 

Howerson  had  not  expected  to  be  called  so  suddenly 
down  to  the  cost.  But  he  was  ready  with  a  venture. 
"  For  five  hundred  thousand  dollars  we  will  put  in  a 
system  that  your  city  cannot  outgrow."  This  was 


THE  SHREWD  MAYOR  125 

doubtless  true.  "  It  will  be  a  system  to  excite  the  envy 
of  neighboring  cities.  It  will  be  the  pride  of  your  citi 
zens,  the  health,  prosperity  and  blessing  of  your 
community. ' ' 

For  a  time  he  was  afraid  to  look  at  the  mayor;  he 
waited,  heard  no  sound  and  then  he  looked.  The  poli 
tician  was  busy  with  a  pencil  and  notebook. 

"  You  would  spend  that  much  for  a  court  house," 
said  Howerson.  "  Why,  many  a  town  not  larger  and 
with  not  half  the  prospects  of  Glenwich  puts  that  much 
into  a  city  hall.  You  could  have  a  cheaper  plant,  of 
course,  but  Mr.  Whateley  wouldn't  install  it." 

The  mayor  put  up  his  notebook,  came  over  and  sat 
down.  Howerson  waited. 

"It's  a  big  expenditure,  Mr.  Howerson,  but  I'll  be 
frank  to  tell  you  that  I  am  in  favor  of  it." 

For  a  few  moments  Howerson  felt  that  in  his  breast 
he  had  buttoned  up  a  fluttering  bird. 

The  mayor  continued:  "  It's  sudden,  but  so  is  every 
thing,  for  that  matter."  Then  at  Howerson  he  cast  a 
sharp  look.  ' '  Is  Mr.  Whateley  constructing  waterworks 
in  any  other  cities?  " 

' '  So  far  as  I  know,  this  is  the  only  scheme  of  the  sort 
he  has  under  consideration.  Glenwich  in  this  matter  is 
to  have  no  rival." 

The  mayor  thought,  and  Howerson,  afraid  of  saying 
too  much,  was  silent.  The  politician  spoke:  "If  we 
do  this  thing  at  all  it  will  have  to  be  done  swiftly.  Too 
much  time  for  consideration  in  such  matters  is  not  likely 
to  be  fruitful  of  a  clearer  view,  but  gives  slower  minds 
the  opportunity  to  hatch  out  obstructions.  The  council 
will  meet  to-morrow  night.  To  spring  the  scheme  sud 
denly  as  an  ordinance  would  not  be  wise.  Every  mem- 


126  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

ber  ought  to  be  seen  —  convinced.  Then  the  measure, 
drawn  up  by  the  city  attorney  under  our  instructions, 
can  in  all  safety  be  presented." 

This  was  rapid.  Howerson  had  not  hoped  for  such 
swiftness;  and  in  the  whirl  of  his  emotions  his  head 
swam,  but  he  steadied  it  and  said:  "  I  should  have  to 
submit  the  ordinance  to  Mr.  Whateley ;  but  by  to-morrow 
morning  we  can  have  it  drawn,  and  I  can  then  run  in  to 
the  city  with  it  and  return  in  plenty  of  time." 

"  But  I  shall  need  you  here  every  minute  to  canvass 
the  aldermen  with  me.  You  can  phone  him  the  gist  of 
the  thing  and  he  can  advise  you.  The  fact  is,  I  have 
very  quietly  had  my  mind  on  this  subject,  and  your 
proposition  is  timely.  Meet  me  and  the  city  attorney 
here  this  evening  at  seven." 

Out  came  the  politician's  hand,  and  with  grateful 
warmth  Howerson  clasped  it;  and  in  a  dream,  though 
a  vivid  one,  he  hastened  to  the  hotel  to  impart  his  news 
to  Joyce,  but  was  told  by  the  clerk  that  the  drummer 
had  gone  out  into  the  country  to  land  a  cross-roads  cus 
tomer.  Howerson  was  too  active  now  to  find  quiet.  He 
couldn't  read.  The  shouting  headlines  of  a  newspaper 
were  but  a  listless  whisper.  He  must  act.  He  called 
up  "Whateley,  told  him  briefly  what  he  had  done  and 
heard  the  old  man's  gasp  of  astonishment.  "  Option 
on  the  lake  and  mayor  anxious  to  push  the  ordinance? 
Mr.  Howerson,  you  are  not  a  business  man;  you  are  a 
marvel.  But  I  doubt  whether  they  will  go  to  the  extent 
of  five  hundred  thousand.  I  happen  to  know  the  coun 
try,  and  we  can  put  in  a  fine  system  with  a  good  margin 
of  profit,  to  say  nothing  of  interest  on  the  bonds,  for 
three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  but  strike  them  as 
high  as  you  can,  bonds  for  four  years  at  five  percent. 


THE  SHREWD  MAYOR  127 

Get  two  or  three  options  on  real  estate,  from  aldermen 
only.  If  the  ordinance  meets  with  favor  I  will  run 
out  in  my  car  day  after  to-morrow.  And  I  will  send 
you  a  check  at  once,  the  money  to  be  used  as  you  may 
deem  proper.  .  .  .  The  last  thing  little  Calvin  said 
last  night  was  that  I  could  trust  you.  I  do. ' ' 

Instead  of  having  a  quieting  effect  this  message  made 
Howerson  more  active,  and  out  he  rushed  to  look  for 
vacant  land  owned  by  aldermen.  It  was  not  hard  to 
find.  "  That  lot  over  there?  It  belongs  to  Alderman 
McCann.  Where  can  you  find  him  ?  He  runs  the  Holly 
Saloon,  just  around  the  corner."  Alderman  McCann 
was  sitting  at  a  table  with  a  party  of  friends.  Would 
he  talk  business?  Sure.  Oh,  that  lot?  Very  valuable. 
Vacant  because  no  one  wanted  to  pay  the  price.  What 
was  the  price?  Well  —  have  a  drink?  Cigar  then. 
They  sat  down  in  a  rear  room. 

"  Who  wants  the  property  and  for  what  purpose?  " 

' '  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  name  the  purpose, ' '  Howerson 
answered. 

"  Then  you  don't  want  it  for  yourself." 

"  No,  I  am  only  an  agent." 

"  Whose  agent." 

"  Calvin  Whateley's.  I  don't  know  to  what  extent 
you  are  interested  in  Glenwich,  but  was  told  that  you 
owned  that  lot,  and —  " 

"  I  am  very  much  interested  in  the  city,  and  more 
than  that,  I  have  faith  in  its  development.  That  lot 
is  liable  to  double  in  price  in  the  next  five  years." 

' '  I  don 't  doubt  it.  I  'm  not  asking  you  what  you  will 
take  for  it  five  years  hence  but  right  now. ' ' 

"  Well,  but  I  must  have  time  to  think  about  it." 

"  But  don't  you  know  the  price  you've  offered  it 


128  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

for?  What  would  you  have  taken  for  it  yesterday? 
What  was  it  worth  before  Mr.  Whateley  wanted  it?  " 

"  Say,  come  around  in  an  hour  from  now." 

Howerson  knew  that  his  failure  to  get  an  option  would 
stimulate  the  spirit  of  speculation.  "  Well,  I  may  see 
you  and  I  may  not." 

"  But  give  me  your  word  that  you  won't  buy  else 
where  till  you've  seen  me  again." 

Howerson  smiled  upon  him.  "  Buying  other  lots  in 
this  city  will  not  keep  Mr.  Whateley  from  buying  yours. 
But  I'll  see  you  again,  anyway." 

Howerson  went  forth  to  look  for  garbage-gathering 
lots  belonging  to  other  aldermen,  and  McCann  slipped 
over  to  see  the  mayor.  The  mere  suggestion  of  a  coming 
boom  has  its  electric  vibrations,  and  Whateley 's  sudden 
interest  in  Glenwich  spread  like  a  village  scandal.  Alder 
men  were  seized  upon  by  shrewd  panic,  and  before  night 
fall  real  estate  had  gone  up  fifty  percent.  A  reporter 
for  the  Call  waylaid  the  promoter  and  caught  him  as 
he  was  going  in  to  supper  at  the  hotel.  The  reporter 
began  to  ply  him  with  questions,  and  Howerson,  striv 
ing  to  appear  dazed  with  astonishment,  said  that  he  did 
not  see  why  he  should  be  singled  out  as  the  repository 
of  information  concerning  the  town.  He  was  a  stranger. 
Why  not  call  on  the  old  citizen?  The  reporter  smiled, 
congratulating  himself  upon  his  shrewdness  to  detect 
this  man's  trickery.  How  fortunate  to  possess  both  youth 
and  insight ! 

"  But  will  you  please  answer  one  question?  " 

"  Oh,  any  number  of  them  if  I  happen  to  know  what 
to  say." 

"  You  will  undoubtedly  know  what  you  deem  it  best 
to  say,"  said  youth,  didactic  from  inexperience,  "  but 
will  you  answer  in  a  straightforward  way?  " 


THE  SHREWD  MAYOR  129 

More  astonishment  on  Howerson's  part.  "  I  will  be 
as  straightforward  as  possible. ' ' 

Then  came  the  vital  question :  ' '  Why  has  Mr. 
Whateley  so  suddenly  become  interested  in  the  affairs  of 
Glenwich?  " 

"  Ah!  Perhaps  I  can  answer  that  question  better 
when  you  have  told  me  why  Glenwich  has  become  inter 
ested  in  herself  so  suddenly." 

Old  age  whines  and  youth  may  sometimes  commiser 
ate  itself.  "  Mr.  Howerson,  I  am  a  mere  boy  while  you 
are  a  great  capitalist  and —  " 

Howerson  put  his  hand  on  the  reporter's  shoulder. 
"  That's  all  right,  young  man.  I  appreciate  your  posi 
tion.  I  know  that  the  public's  curiosity  employs  you 
as  its  agent,  and  I  grant  you  the  right  to  ask  questions, 
but  really  I  have  nothing  that  I  can  tell  you  with  any 
degree  of  certainty.  Mr.  Whateley,  a  far-seeing  man, 
may  become  actively  interested  in  your  town,  may  invest 
heavily  here,  and  this  you  may  print  as  a  rumor ;  but  I 
must  request  you  not  to  mention  my  name,  but  refer  to 
me  simply  as  an  agent. ' '  He  was  thinking  of  the  Agents 
of  Justice,  of  murderous  Hudsic  and  of  desperate  Annie 
Zondish.  ' '  Will  you  treat  me  with  that  consideration  ?  ' ' 
With  alarm  Howerson  saw  hesitation  in  the  reporter's 
countenance.  "  What  would  you  think  of  a  great  news 
paper  disfiguring  its  columns  with  the  names  of  all  its 
writers,  a  signature  attached  to  every  paragraph?  Well, 
in  that  respect  Mr.  Whateley  is  like  a  great  newspaper; 
and  it  would  displease  him  if  you  should  print  my 
name.  In  fact  he  might,  if  the  whim  seized  upon  him, 
recall  me  and  withdraw  his  interest  from  the  town. ' ' 

The  reporter  promised  and  Howerson  shook  hands  with 
him.  What  an  escape !  If  the  Agents  —  but  he  banished 
them  out  into  the  barbaric  territory  of  medieval  dark- 


130  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWEKSON 

ness.  Capitalist !  Ah,  a  few  years  ago  how  Howerson  's 
blood  would  have  sung  had  the  press  sought  to  interview 
him,  the  Poet! 

"  Martha  Washington  "  escorted  him  to  his  table, 
drew  out  his  chair,  dusted  it  with  a  napkin.  "  Sister  " 
came  forward  smilingly  to  take  his  order  and  he  asked 
her  if  Sam  Joyce  had  returned.  He  had  not,  a  disap 
pointment  that  "  sister  "  could  not  smile  away.  After 
supper  he  trod  the  minutes  beneath  his  feet,  walking  up 
and  down  the  lobby,  impatient  of  the  hour  of  his  appoint 
ment  at  the  mayor's  office. 

The  mayor  received  him  cordially  and  presented  the 
city  attorney,  a  young  man  so  serious  that  old  age  had 
broken  away  from  the  future  to  totter  back  to  meet  him, 
to  mock  him  with  a  wrinkled  brow  and  drooping  shoul 
ders.  He  shook  hands  with  the  towering,  deep-voiced 
promoter,  his  lips  drawing  tightly  apart  from  gums 
blued  by  cold  blood.  Howerson  said  that  the  weather 
continued  to  be  pleasant,  and  the  city  attorney  who, 
having  taken  a  sheet  of  foolscap  out  of  his  pocket,  was 
looking  at  it,  responded  with,  "  How's  that?  "  It  is 
dangerous  for  a  promoter  to  repeat  a  trivial  observation, 
and  Howerson  cleared  his  throat  impressively. 

They  drew  up  to  the  mayor's  desk.  The  attorney 
moved  an  inkstand,  though  it  was  not  in  his  way,  took 
up  a  paper  weight  from  whose  crystal  depths  gleamed 
the  National  Capitol,  turned  to  Howerson  with  the  "Cap 
itol  "  in  his  hand  as  if  he  were  about  to  smash  his  head 
with  it,  and  remarked: 

"  You  have  come  with  a  big  proposition,  Mr.  How 
erson.  ' ' 

Howerson  nodded.  "  Mr.  Whateley's  propositions  are 
generally  big." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  here  to  criticize  it,  I  assure  you.     I 


THE  SHREWD  MAYOR  131 

am  here  to  draw  up  a  bill,  not  of  complaint  but  of  com 
mendation.  ' ' 

His  air  of  awful  responsibility  was  merely  a  play 
to  assure  the  mayor  that  no  mistake  had  been  made 
in  bestowing  upon  him  the  appointment  of  city  attor 
ney.  No  man  is  too  serious  or  too  grim  wholly  to  sup 
press  a  play  for  his  own  moral  advantage;  and  when 
the  attorney  had  rung  down  his  little  curtain,  he  pleased 
Howerson  with  the  zest  of  his  work,  the  keenness  of 
his  suggestions  —  doubtless  himself  the  owner  of  a  bit 
of  stagnant  real  estate.  The  ordinance  was  soon  drawn, 
Howerson 's  points  engrafted  with  solemn  skill.  It  was 
typewritten  by  a  young  man  who  waited  in  an  adjoin 
ing  room,  and  with  a  light  heart,  a  gong  beating  out  the 
high  strokes  of  hope,  Howerson  hastened  to  the  hotel. 
There,  waiting  for  him,  was  a  special  delivery  from 
Whateley's  office.  It  was  not  a  letter;  it  was  a  check 
for  five  thousand  dollars.  He  stood  leaning  against  the 
counter,  gazing  at  the  bit  of  magic  paper,  his  heart 
beating  hard;  and  he  heard  the  ring  of  a  little  boy's 
laugh.  ...  A  hand  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder 
and  he  turned  about  with  a  start,  to  face  Sam  Joyce. 

"  Hello,  old  boy;  how  did  you  get  along  with  his 
city  hall  nobs?  " 

"  Fine,  and  I  owe  you —  " 

' '  Cut  it.  You  don 't  owe  me  a  white  chip.  Say,  come 
out  and  eat  with  me.  I  'm  as  hungry  as  a  harvest  hand. ' ' 

"Eat  with  you?  Not  if  I  know  it!  You'll  eat  with 
me  and  eat  everything  there  is  in  this  town,  I'm  telling 
you.  Wait." 

He  turned  to  the  landlord  who  with  caressing  air  was 
smoothing  out  the  receipts  of  the  day.  "  Oh,  by  the 
way,  Mr.  —  ' ' 

'  Watts,"  Joyce  suggested,  lower  of  tone. 


132  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Mr.  Watts,  a  word  with  you,  please." 

"  All  right."  He  put  his  money  to  bed,  locked  it  in 
its  steel  dormitory  and  came  over  to  the  counter. 

"  Mr.  Watts,"  said  Howerson,  "  I  have  a  check  that 
I  can 't  deposit  and  draw  against  until  morning. ' ' 

Watts  let  his  jaw  drop. 

"  I  don't  ask  you  to  cash  it,  only  to  let  me  have  a 
few  dollars  until  the  bank  opens." 

"  Ah!  "  Watts  took  the  check,  looked  at  it,  and  for 
a  moment  appeared  to  be  gazing  into  a  sunrise. 

"  Whew!  Cash  it?  I  should  say  not!  But  I'll  let 
you  have  all  the  money  I've  got  in  the  house.  So  that's 
old  Calvin 's  signature,  eh  ?  I  'd  like  to  write  out  a  check 
and  have  him  sign  it.  How  much  do  you  want  to 
night?  " 

"  Come  on,"  said  Joyce,  "  you  don't  need  any." 

"  Wait  a  moment.  Let  me  have  fifty.  And  you  may 
hold  the  check." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all  necessary,  I  assure  you.  I  am 
more  than  pleased  to  accommodate  you. ' ' 

He  unlocked  the  steel  dormitory,  awoke  fifty  of  his 
precious  children  and  gave  them  to  Howerson. 

As  they  walked  out  Joyce  inquired  as  to  the  amount 
of  the  check.  As  quietly  as  he  could  Howerson  spoke 
the  figure  which  had  been  to  him  so  startling,  and  the 
traveling  salesman  said:  "  You  speak  of  it  as  only  a 
mild  sweetener  of  a  jackpot." 

Howerson  laughed.  "It's  the  first  check  for  that 
amount  I  ever  saw,  and  if  a  prophet  had  come  out  of 
Holy  Writ,  beard  and  all,  a  few  days  ago,  and  told  me 
that  I  should  ever  see  one  of  that  heft  payable  to  me, 
I  would  have  said,  '  You  are  a  very  kind  old  gentleman, 
but  you'd  better  get  into  your  chariot  of  fire  and  honk 


THE  SHREWD  MAYOR  133 

off  the  face  of  the  earth.'  Do  you  know  of  a  good  res 
taurant?  " 

"  Yes,  around  here  there's  a  foolish  joint,  put  up  and 
just  opened  by  a  fellow  that  wants  to  throw  away  his 
money." 

"  Champagne  dive?  "  Howerson  laughed. 

"  Yea,  and  canvasback  ducks  refrigerated  for  the  guest 
that'll  never  show  up.'* 

"  But  he'll  show  up  to-night,  old  fellow.  You'll  eat 
his  duck  and  drink  his  wine." 

"  I'll  eat  anything  that  ever  wore  hide,  feathers  or 
shell,"  said  Joyce,  "  but  I  look  not  upon  the  wine.  I 
haven't  taken  a  drink  since  the  undertakers'  parade. 
But  don't  let  me  queer  you." 

"I'm  on  the  dust  cart,"  Howerson  declared.  "  I've 
known  what  it  is  to  wait  in  the  morning  chill  for  a 
saloon  to  open,  to  breathe  the  sour  air  and  put  down  a 
last  dime  for  a  choke  of  hell-broth  —  but  I  'm  done. 
When  drunkenness  is  caused  by  failure,  prosperity  cures 
it.  What 's  that  ?  Don 't  look  as  if  I  were  ever  a  failure ! 
Why,  Sam,  I  was  rank." 

"We've  all  been  that  more  or  less,"  said  Joyce. 
"  Here  we  are." 

"  Yes,"  Howerson  assented,  "  more  or  less.  But  I 
belonged  to  the  more  class." 

They  entered  a  place  that  flashed  with  mirrors  set 
in  the  walls.  In  the  ceiling  was  a  star,  formed  with 
electric  lights.  In  a  corner  plushed  and  hung  with 
silver  tassels  the  men  sat  down  at  a  table,  inlaid,  Chinese 
fashion,  with  mother  of  pearl. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  howl,"  said  Joyce.  "  I  give  it  six 
months.  Now  look  here ;  I  don't  want  you  to  blow  your 
self  on  my  account." 


134  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  But,  my  dear  boy,  you  don't  know  what  you've 
done  for  me." 

"  I  haven't  done  anything  but  introduced  you  to  a 
friend  of  mine.  If  you  put  in  a  water  system,  why  the 
Lord  knows  the  old  burg  needs  it  as  badly  as  a  kitten 
needs  milk.  But  I  don't  want  duck.  I  want  a 
beefsteak  about  the  size  of  a  doormat." 

"  All  right,  you  order.  I'm  not  hungry.  But  don't 
let  the  fact  that  I  am  under  vital  obligations  to  you 
get  out  of  your  mind.  I  don't  know  that  I  can  make 
a  success  of  this  thing,  but  I  do  know  that  before  com 
ing  out  here  I  was  as  pitiable  a  failure  as  rags,  whiskey 
and  despair  could  make  of  any  man.  I'm  not  going 
to  blow  the  self-depravity  horn,  but  it  is  the  truth." 

"  Yes?  "  said  Joyce,  scanning  the  bill  of  fare.  "  Go 
ahead,  I'm  listening,"  he  added,  writing  his  order.  But 
Howerson  was  silent  until  the  waiter  had  bowed  himself 
out  of  the  stuffy  nook,  and  then  he  said:  "  There  must 
be  a  God." 

Joyce  looked  at  him.  "  Bet  your  life  there  is!  But 
why  ?  Because  you  are  no  longer  a  failure  ?  That  argues 
all  right  for  you,  but  what  is  arguing  in  favor  of  the 
thousands  that  have  not  been  able  to  jump  out  of  their 
rags  into  fine  clothes?  You've  got  to  have  a  higher 
and  a  more  universal  reason  for  your  belief." 

"  I  have." 

"What  is  it?  " 

"  A  boy." 

"  Oh,  yours?  " 

"  No,  God's.  And  I  believe  in  the  Father  because  I 
have  met  the  son." 

"  That's  all  right,  I  guess,"  said  Joyce,  "  but  it's 
too  spiritual  for  a  hungry  man." 


THE  SHREWD  MAYOR  135 

From  an  adjoining  room  came  the  trill  of  a  woman's 
cultivated  laughter.  Over  his  shoulder  Joyce  gestured 
with  a  fork.  ' '  Some  fellow  in  there  with  a  merry  skirt, ' ' 
he  said.  "  Risky  business  unless  it's  on  the  square,  and 
on  the  square  it's  tiresome.  It's  an  infernal  shame  that 
the  keenest  joy  doesn't  come  out  of  the  practice  of  the 
virtues.  Why  couldn't  the  guzzling  of  champagne  have 
been  made  a  virtue  ?  I  want  to  tell  you  that  Dame  Nature 
is  an  old  Puritan." 

"No;  more  often  a  wanton,"  Howerson  declared. 

Joyce  threw  back  his  head,  filled  his  wide  mouth  with 
oyster  crackers  and  crunched  them.  The  woman  in  the 
near-by  room  rippled,  and  through  the  flimsy  wall  came 
the  low  tones  of  a  man's  voice. 

"Puritan  and  wanton  by  turns,"  said  Joyce,  spraying 
out  cracker  crumbs.  "  But  having  just  made  the  im 
portant,  not  to  say  dangerous  discovery  that  there  is  a 
God,  how  can  you  say  that  Nature  is  a  wanton?  "  He 
speared  a  pickle  into  his  mouth,  crunched  it,  sounding 
like  choppy  footsteps  in  frozen  snow. 

"Because  in  everything  I  do  or  say  I  am  inconsist 
ent,"  Howerson  answered.  "  Because,  like  the  majority 
of  men,  I  speak  before  I  think.  But  Nature  isn't  God. 
Let  me  say  that  Nature  is  the  body  of  God  but  not  the 
soul.  In  its  waywardness  a  man's  body  may  do  things 
that  his  soul,  his  mind,  does  not  approve.  His  body 
shakes  with  ague.  God's  body  shakes,  a  physical  con 
vulsion,  and  a  city  tumbles  into  ruin.  Sap  in  the  rose 
is  the  blood  of  God,  not  his  soul.  The  soul  is  behind 
the  sap,  has  created  it.  The — " 

Joyce  broke  in:  "If  you  want  to  succeed  in  busi 
ness,  cut  that  out.  If  you  talk  like  that  they'll  say  you're 
off.  In  business  they'll  sometimes  stand  for  an  atheist, 


136  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

but  not  for  a  man  who  presumes  to  define  God.  Ordi 
narily  you  must  believe  in  Him,  but  seek  to  run  Him 
off  with  a  surveyor's  chain  and  you're  nutty." 

Joyce  laughed,  but  Howerson  replied  soberly:  "  You 
are  right,  Sam;  I  know  it,  and  I  shall  not  only  profit 
materially  but  spiritually  by  what  you  have  said.  When 
I  awoke  this  morning  I  thought  that  my  mind  had  been 
completely  regenerated,  but  I  find  that  a  certain  relaxa 
tion  tends  to  turn  it  back  toward  confused  metaphysical 
gropings.  Gratitude  brings  up  for  review  the  horror 
from  which  we  may  have  been  rescued,  but  brooding 
over  the  horror  becomes  weaker  as  time  passes,  and  I 
confess  to  you  that  I  need  time." 

The  waiter  brought  the  meal.  With  his  hands  spread 
out  over  the  steak,  Joyce  pronounced  a  physical  grace. 
His  eyes  glowed.  During  a  long  time  he  said  nothing, 
a  healthy  animal  feeding;  and  Howerson  enjoyed  him 
as  one  enjoys  the  food  eagerness  of  a  lion.  The  woman 
in  the  adjoining  room  shouted  her  laughter,  and  then 
came  a  smothery  gurgle  and  the  explosion  of  an  awk 
ward  kiss.  Joyce  put  down  his  knife.  "  She's  got  a 
novice, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Do  you  know  what  she 's  responsible 
for  right  now?  For  the  degeneracy  of  the  stage  and 
the  disgrace  of  the  novel.  Debt-ridden  genius  lends  itself 
to  — to—  " 

"  To  the  slime  that's  kin  to  the  sap  in  her  veins," 
Howerson  suggested. 

' '  Nail  on  the  head, ' '  Joyce  declared.  * '  And  the  devil 
of  it  is  that  her  taste  is  the  taste  of  millions  of  women 
physically  pure.  But  what's  the  use!  " 

He  resumed  his  feeding.  The  woman  laughed,  hummed 
a  tune,  the  man  talked  in  a  low  tone.  Into  the  main 
dining  room  separated  from  the  plush  corner  by  looped- 
back  blue  stuff,  came  running  young  fellows  and  girls, 


THE  SHREWD  MAYOE  137 

the  girls  with  their  hats  in  their  hands,  having  tried 
to  shield  them  from  a  sudden  mood  of  the  weather. 
They  shook  sparkling  drops  of  water  from  their  hair, 
playfully  shrieking,  and  one  of  the  young  fellows  pre 
tended  to  run  out  from  under  the  shower,  as  if  from 
beneath  a  rain-laden  tree,  shaken  by  mischief. 

"  Earning,"  said  Joyce.  Then  he  added:  "  There 
are  two  coal  grates  in  the  council  chamber,  one  on  each 
side;  and,  especially  if  it's  raining,  tell  Rodney  to  have 
a  fire  in  each  of  them.  They'll  be  eloquent  in  favor  of 
your  bill." 

"  Sam,  you're  a  psychologist  right." 

"  Watch  me,"  said  Joyce.  "A  man  is  richest,  not 
down  in  his  gold  mine  but  at  his  fireside." 

"  You  think  in  observations,  Sam.  Some  men  talk 
words,  but  you  talk  visions.  A  fellow  at  a  camp  fire 
at  night  owns  a  continent.  Yes,  I'll  have  the  grates 
lighted.  Won't  you  be  here?  I'll  need  your  congratu 
lations." 

"  That's  right;  congratulation  and  not  condolence,  for 
you  're  not  going  to  fail,  you  know.  No,  I  '11  not  be  here ; 
got  to  pull  out  on  a  freight  early  in  the  morning.  But 
I  may  see  you  in  town  before  long.  Here 's  my  card  and 
phone  number.  Call  me  up  and  we'll  go  out  and  start 
something.  Shall  we  hike  on  back  to  the  kennel?  " 

Howerson  took  up  the  check,  folded  three-corner-wise 
to  give  it  an  air  of  "  swell  "  secrecy,  and  brightened 
the  waiter's  countenance  with  a  tip.  As  they  passed 
out  into  the  large  dining  room  Howerson  heard  the  wit 
of  the  inrush  of  youth  remark:  "  There's  the  prize 
fighter  and  his  fat  trainer.  Look  out  for  'em,"  and  the 
girls,  quick  contributors  to  the  demands  of  genius,  smoth 
ered  their  laughter.  How  far  some  of  them  were  from 
the  woman  in  the  side  room,  and  yet,  how  near!  How 


138  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

short-cut  might  be  their  road  to  unfortified  opportunity ! 

Warm  rain  pattered  softly.  On  the  stone  pavement 
pearls  danced  in  the  yellow  light.  There  was  no  wind, 
no  chill.  It  was  a  night  when  in  the  motionless  air 
only  sweet  memories  come  back,  always  from  happy  days 
—  a  sunset  long  ago,  the  warm,  timid  pressure  of  a 
glorified  hand,  the  valley  enchanted,  the  hill-top  tem 
pled  by  the  wand  of  a  boy's  love,  the  world  of  holy 
ignorance.  Joyce  must  have  felt  it  too,  for  he  took 
hold  of  Howerson's  arm,  and  they  walked  in  silence. 

In  the  hotel  parlor  a  coal  fire  was  burning  low,  and 
they  sat  down  beside  it,  still  mute;  and  they  heard  the 
soft  patter  on  the  thawed  earth,  grateful,  it  seemed,  for 
the  warm  drops. 

Joyce  spoke:  "I  want  to  tell  you  that  I'm  wet." 

"So  am  I." 

"  But  it's  fine." 

"  Baptism,"  said  Howerson. 

"  Look  here,  George,  you've  got  a  theology  shine  on 
to-night.  But  it's  all  right.  Keep  it  as  long  as  you 
can,  but  base  it  on  something  deeper  than  prosperity." 

"  What  little  religion  I've  got,  Sam,  can't  be  taken 
away  from  me,  now.  It  is  based  on  pure  redemption 
of  soul.  It  is  the  religion  of  gratitude,  but  as  I  can 
speak  of  it  only  in  a  vague  way,  I  '11  say  nothing.  There 
is  such  a  thing  though  as  saving  a  man's  soul.  Oh,  I 
was  a  materialist.  I  didn't  believe  in  anything,  got  to 
a  point  where  I  wouldn't  read  a  book  if  it  mentioned 
Christ;  but  I  won't  talk  about  it." 

"  Go  ahead  while  I'm  drying  out  my  baptism." 

"  No,  I  am  not  worthy  yet  to  speak  of  it.  I  am  too 
much  of  a  liar.  I've  lied  all  day,  and  enjoyed  it,  too. 
I've  deceived  everybody,  and  yet  it  is  a  part  of  my 
redemption.  But  I'm  not  going  to  deceive  old  Calvin 


THE  SHREWD  MAYOR  139 

Whateley,  and  that  is  also  a  part  of  my  redemption. 
I  am  going  to  be  the  most  faithful  man  he  ever  dealt 
with,  until  the  time  comes  when  I  shall  be  forced  to  make 
a  confession  to  him,  and  then  you'll  see  old  George  with 
his  little  kit  of  tools  disappearing  over  the  dim  edge 
of  the  landscape." 

"  Confession  be  blowed!  What  have  you  got  to  con 
fess?  Haven't  stolen  anything  from  him,  have  you?  I 
take  it  for  granted  you  haven't.  Going  to  serve  him  to 
the  full  and  untiring  trot  of  your  ability?  I  take  that 
for  granted  also.  And  now  I  don't  see  any  kick  coming 
on  his  part.  Whatever  indulgence  you  may  feel  inclined 
to  grant  yourself,  old  boy,  never  permit  yourself  to 
get  morbid.  You'd  better  get  drunk  ten  to  one,  for 
out  of  a  night's  drunk  there  may  come  a  mind-purifying 
repentance,  but  nothing  but  evil  can  come  out  of  mor 
bidness.  .  .  .  Well,  George,  believe  I'll  turn  in." 

They  arose  and  shook  hands.  "  Sam,  my  friend  — 
that's  all." 

' '  That 's  enough.    Take  care  of  yourself. ' ' 

He  went  out,  whistling,  and  Howerson  sitting  down, 
heard  him  joking  the  sleepy  night  clerk.  It  was  a  long 
time  before  the  promoter  went  to  his  room.  He  sat 
dreaming,  listening  to  the  soft  patter  of  the  rain. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  ORDINANCE 

Howerson  went  early  to  the  city  hall  but  the  mayor 
was  waiting  for  him.  They  shook  hands  with  interested 
warmth,  one  feeling  that  the  value  of  his  real  estate, 
covered  with  ash  heaps  and  rusty  tin  cans,  had  risen 
during  the  night,  and  the  other  in  hopeful  gratitude. 
For  a  time  they  talked  national  politics,  a  subject  on 
which  every  villager  is  supposed  to  be  enlightening;, 
talked  of  the  reformers  four-flushing  in  different  sec 
tions  of  the  country ;  of  the  gradual  though  pronounced 
changes  in  educational  methods,  arguing  that  vital  errors 
were  the  hardest  to  eradicate,  such  as  the  evil  of  permit 
ting  a  woman  to  teach  a  boy  after  his  twelfth  year;  of 
the  false  morality  of  Tolstoy.  Finally  they  spoke  of 
waterworks,  whereupon  both  of  them  became  natural. 
Without  further  skirmishing  they  admitted  it  wise  to 
call  at  once  upon  the  executive  patriots  of  the  city. 

Alderman  Baldwin  was  the  first,  a  great  quarter  of 
cold  storage  beef.  He  listened,  coughed,  walked  up  and 
down  with  heavy  tread,  pondering  over  his  duty  to  the 
people,  sat  down,  deploring  the  suddenness  of  so  great 
a  project.  He  would  think  about  it.  In  truth,  wind 
of  the  scheme  had  blown  upon  him  the  night  before 
and  his  calf-brain  mind  had  arrived  at  a  decision. 

Next  they  called  on  "Doc"  Black,  the  druggist,  tall, 
thin,  awl-eyed.  He  cracked  no  knuckles  over  the  prop 
osition.  He  began  to  talk  about  a  factory  site  which 
just  at  that  time  happened  to  belong  to  him.  Numerous 

140 


THE  ORDINANCE  141 

offers  had  been  refused,  on  account  of  his  wife,  who 
was  much  attached  to  the  property,  but  as  he  needed 
capital  wherewith  to  enlarge  his  business,  she  had  at 
last  consented  to  part  with  it,  gentle  and  pliant  creature. 
Howerson  would  take  an .  option,  he  said,  though  Mr. 
Whateley  objected  to  being  the  first  victim  of  a  "  boom  ' ' 
brought  about  by  himself.  But  contingent  upon  the 
enactment  of  the  ordinance  he  would  take  over  the 
factory  site  if  the  price  were  within  reason. 

The  mayor  was  pleased,  and  out  in  the  street 
he  brought  it  about  that  he  owned  most  desirable  "  loca 
tions,  ' '  which  he  hoped  that  the  ' '  Big  Jolt  ' '  would  not 
overlook,  whereupon  Howerson  gave  the  executive's  arm 
a  shrewd  squeeze. 

Now  they  went  to  the  saloon  of  Alderman  McCann, 
and  the  statesman  received  them  with  hearty  handgrip 
and  an  invitation  to  drink  of  his  strong  waters,  both 
visitors  wisely  declining.  But  in  a  rear  room  they  sat 
down  to  burn  Cuban  tobacco  with  him.  He  was  pleased, 
he  said,  that  Howerson  had  kept  faith  with  him.  A 
man  who  would  not  honor  his  own  word  was  not  worth 
a  gentleman's  consideration.  His  own  practice  of  hon 
esty  as  a  policy  had  rendered  his  word  a  gold  coin  in 
Glenwich.  The  mayor  knew  that.  The  mayor  acknowl 
edged  that  he  did  know  it,  lying  without  a  squint;  and 
Howerson  declared  himself  sure  of  it.  McCann  was 
careful  of  the  people's  money,  but  he  was  considerate 
also  of  their  interests.  The  ordinance  was  all  right. 
Let's  see  now,  about  the  lot  that  Howerson  had  spoken 
of  the  day  before.  Ah,  the  price?  But  it  was  settled 
upon,  and  this  reminded  the  promoter  that  he  must  go 
to  the  bank  and  make  a  deposit,  which  he  did,  both  mayor 
and  alderman  bearing  him  company. 

By  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  councilmen,  all 


142  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

of  them,  had  been  ' '  fixed, ' '  not  so  much  by  direct  prom 
ise  as  by  suggestion.  Several  options  were  put  up,  the 
mayor,  McCann  and  the  druggist  among  the  benefici 
aries.  And  now  Howerson  was  thankful  to  be  alone  in 
his  room  at  the  hotel.  He  shook  himself,  wrote  a  check 
for  fifty  dollars,  summoned  a  bell  boy  and  sent  it  down 
to  the  landlord.  Up  he  came,  solicitously  inquiring  if 
he  could  make  his  distinguished  guest  more  comfortable, 
and  learning  to  his  disappointment  that  he  could  not, 
scraped  himself  out  of  the  room. 

The  air  was  warm,  the  sky  overcast,  and  now  rain 
began  to  fall.  Yes,  the  two  grates  in  the  council  cham 
ber  must  be  lighted.  The  mayor  had  said  that  it  would 
be  well  for  the  promoter  to  make  a  speech  to  the  patriots 
assembled,  and  now  he  set  his  hand  to  the  writing  of  it, 
but  his  mind  did  not  respond,  and  tearing  the  paper,  he 
walked  the  floor. 

"  Why  should  they  expect  a  speech?  "  he  said. 
' '  Haven 't  they  got  sense  enough  to  know  their  own  inter 
est?  But  if  they  call  on  me  I've  got  to  speak,  and  if 
I  fail  in  my  talk,  I'm  done  for.  I  wish  old  Sam  were 
here.  One  word  from  him  would  start  me  off  in  the  right 
direction.  That  mayor  ought  to  have  had  better  sense, 
and  what  was  I  thinking  of  to  allow  myself  to  be  trapped  ? 
A  little  whiskey  would  set  me  off,  a  drink  of  brandy. 
Champagne  would  sparkle  me.  I  could  write  a  speech 
that  would  bead  and  bubble  them  into  my  own  humor." 

He  walked  up  and  down.  Suddenly  he  faced  about 
toward  the  light.  "  And  now,  after  your  escape,  your 
soul's  redemption,  are  you  going  to  hold  converse  with 
certain  failure,  your  old  enemy?  " 

The  bell  boy  appeared.  Wine  had  rung  for  him  and 
Howerson  did  not  know  it.  "  Ah,  bring  me  —  a  pitcher 
of  water,  please. ' '  And  then  as  he  turned  again  to  walk 


THE  ORDINANCE  143 

the  floor,  he  mused:  "  No  false  morality  here,  old 
George.  It  is  the  assertion  of  the  spirit  of  self  preser 
vation.  ' ' 

He  sat  down  and  waited.  The  boy  came,  the  poet 
drank  of  the  water  and  turned  again  to  his  work;  and 
now  he  thought  to  write  a  statement  naked  of  adornment, 
but  it  was  too  much  stripped.  He  went  out  of  the  house, 
into  the  rain,  where  the  brown  river  laughed  in  the 
open  and  shrieked  beneath  the  stored  ice;  he  went  out 
into  the  fields  where  thawed  furrow  sank  soft  beneath 
his  feet;  and  he  came  back,  thankful  to  God  that  he 
had  not  yielded  to  another  god,  the  god  of  the  heathen 
vine.  Still  he  could  think  of  nothing  to  say.  On  all 
other  subjects  how  like  a  plant-bed  was  his  mind,  sprout 
ing  the  seeds  of  ideas!  How  he  could  have  talked  on 
art,  literature,  anything  but  the  one  vital  subject.  He 
went  in  to  supper  still  grateful  for  his  victory  over  wine 
but  despondent  over  his  oratorical  defeat. 

The  time  came  and  he  sat  near  the  mayor,  looking  down 
into  the  mastered  countenances  of  those  hard  business 
men,  and  he  hoped  that  they  might  not  call  on  him,  but 
they  did,  and  he  arose  with  a  feeling  that  he  was  to 
deliver  the  funeral  ode  of  his  scheme.  At  first  he  fum 
bled  about  for  words,  tossing  one  here,  one  there;  but 
after  a  time  he  forgot  his  fumbling,  began  to  give  way 
to  the  mysterious  suggestions  of  inspiration,  and  then 
he  astonished  himself.  Winged  figures  of  speech  flew 
into  his  mind,  like  wild  pigeons;  and  then  came  homely 
things  like  barnyard  fowls,  flopping  their  short  wings. 
He  sat  down,  feeling  warm  ooze  on  his  brow.  Something 
gripped  his  arm,  the  mayor's  hand,  and  a  voice  whis 
pered,  ' '  That  settles  it ;  the  thing 's  done. ' '  And  it  was 
done.  All  rules  were  suspended,  and  the  ordinance 
became  a  law. 


144  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

The  mayor  walked  with  Howerson  to  the  hotel,  and 
the  orator  of  the  evening  heard  him  talking,  but  did 
not  know  what  he  said.  They  were  now  at  the  threshold 
of  the  hostelry,  and  the  mayor's  hand  was  resting  on 
the  orator's  shoulder.  "  Mr.  Howerson,  you  have  made 
our  town!  "  The  orator  deplored  the  fact  that  he  was 
not  deserving  of  such  praise,  set  forth  in  emotional 
words  and  impressed  with  a  tight  handgrip,  but  with 
more  of  truth  he  could  have  said,  "  I  don't  know  how 
far  I've  gone  toward  the  making  of  your  town,  but  I 
think  I've  gone  quite  a  jaunt  toward  the  making  of 
myself. ' ' 

It  was  too  late  to  call  Whateley  by  telephone,  but  a 
night  letter  of  fifty  words  was  sent  by  telegraph. 

On  the  morrow  the  town  jumped  out  of  its  dream 
feeling  that  something  had  happened.  An  old-timer 
whose  boast  was  that  he  had  shaken  hands  with  Lincoln, 
declaimed  that  the  council  had  taken  the  law  into  its 
own  hands ;  but  a  retired  judge  with  lettuce  and  radishes 
in  a  basket,  and  whose  endeared  homestead  had  during 
ten  years  squatted  on  the  market,  appeased  him  with 
the  assertion  that  the  people  were  the  law  and  that  it 
was  not  the  province  of  statutes  to  chloroform  the  nos 
trils  of  the  body  politic. 

The  new  life  of  the  town  hammered  Howerson  awake, 
waited  till  he  dressed,  and  gripping  his  hand,  offered 
him  property  that  blindness  had  neglected  but  which 
now  was  cheap  at  any  price.  The  landlord  overwhelmed 
him  with  the  obsequious  palaver  known  to  the  trade  as 
courtesy.  The  cigar  girl  illumined  him  with  a  smile 
as  he  tipped  his  silk  hat  to  her,  and  "  Martha  Wash 
ington  "  swept  him  a  dance-house  grace.  The  reporter 
was  waiting  for  him,  and  invited  by  kindly  gesture,  slid 
into  a  seat  at  the  table. 


THE  ORDINANCE  145 

"  Have  you  read  my  write-up  of  your  achievement?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  thank  you  very  much."  He  had  not, 
but  it  was  well  to  begin  the  day  with  a  soft  and  natter 
ing  falsehood. 

"  And  I  suppose  you  noticed  that  I  didn't  mention 
your  name.  Did  you  like  the  get-up  of  the  story?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  was  well  put  together.  Why  don't  you 
get  a  job  on  a  city  paper?  " 

11  That's  what  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about.  You 
know  a  fellow  hasn't  much  to  hope  for  on  a  newspaper 
in  a  town  of  this  size  —  ' '  Had  he  been  wiser  to  an  unfor 
tunate  truth,  Howerson  could  have  added,  "  Nor  in  a 
town  of  any  size,"  but  unacquainted  with  the  truth 
he  merely  nodded  and  waited  for  the  young  man  to 
proceed.  "  And  I  was  thinking  that  you  might  help 
me  to  get  a  job  in  the  city.  I  suppose  you  know  a  good 
many  of  the  leading  newspaper  men." 

"  Well,  no,  not  personally.  You  see,  business  and 
literature  —  I  mean  journalism  —  don 't  trot  together. 
Business,  you  know,  is  very  —  busy.  But  Mr.  Whate- 
ley  may  be  able  to  do  something  for  you." 

The  youth's  countenance  reddened  with  hope.  "I'm 
sure  a  word  from  him  would  mean  a  great  deal,  and  if 
you'd  be  kind  enough  to  call  his  attention  to  my  article, 
I'd  deem  it  a  favor." 

' '  Helloa,  here.  I  'm  getting  into  it, ' '  Howerson  mused ; 
then  as  an  inspirational  shift  he  said:  "  But  as  this  city 
is  now  bound  to  go  forward,  why  not  remain  here,  and 
make  it  your  ambition  to  own  a  paper  yourself  ?  I  don 't 
know  a  town  that  can  offer  more  advantages  than  Glen- 
wich.  Ambition  is  all  right,  you  know;  fine  thing,  but 
the  great  majority  of  men  in  a  city  have  a  boss,  while  — 
er  —  developed  ability  ought  to  be  its  own  proprietor. ' ' 

The  youth,  his  eyes  on  the  cloth,  was  turning  the  salt 


146  THE  NEW  MB.  HOWERSON 

cellar  round  and  round.  Thirsting  for  the  Golden  Gob 
let  of  encouragement,  he  had  been  offered  the  same  old 
cracked  cup  of  advice.  "I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand 
business  well  enough  to  build  up  an  establishment,"  he 
said.  "  The  truth  is,  my  tastes  are  literary." 

"  Merciful  Lord,"  thought  Howerson. 

"  In  fact,  poetic." 

No  alasful  deprecation  was  strong  enough,  and  How 
erson  looked  at  him  in  pity  as  round  and  round  he 
turned  the  salt,  a  substance  which  his  muse  might  never 
enable  him  to  earn. 

"  What's  your  name,  young  man?  " 

"  Harvey  Bruce." 

"  And  when  I  first  met  you  I  thought  you  shrewd, 
of  the  world.  Is  it  possible  that  there  is  a  poetic  skel 
eton  in  every  closet?  " 

With  a  start  the  young  man  looked  at  him.  "  No 
offense,  Bruce.  I  spoke  from  a  disappointed  heart.  I 
know  you  now,  and  I'll  help  you  in  any  way  I  can, 
which  may  not  be  much,  but  you  are  free  to  command 
me.  If  you  are  tainted,  though,  with  a  love  for  the 
oldest  of  the  fine  arts,  the  gods  weep  for  you  and  the 
satyrs  laugh." 

The  youth  mumbled  that  it  was  a  melancholy  view  to 
take  "  of  a  soul's  ambition,"  and  then  blurted  out,  his 
face  red,  his  eyes  expressive  of  defiant  appeal  from  the 
world's  unjust  decision:  "  Poetry  is  not  dead.  It  sings 
on  Olympus!  " 

/  "  No,"  said  Howerson,  "  poetry  is  not  dead,  but  the 
poets  are,  or  will  be  as  soon  as  Commercialism  attains 
its  complete  ambition." 

The  reporter  arose  to  take  his  leave,  but  lingered  to 
cast  once  more  his  line  into  dark  waters,  to  hook  per- 


THE  ORDINANCE  147 

chance  a  hope  game  enough  to  strike.    "  But  if  poetry 
is  dead,  prose  must  die  too." 

"  Luminous,  soul-lifting  prose,  yes,"  Howerson 
replied.  "  The  future  will  demand  that  its  literature 
shall  be  written  with  the  stub  pencil  tied  with  a  string 
to  the  telegrapher's  counter.  '  Eleven  words?  '  cries 
the  publisher.  '  Your  narrative  is  too  long. '  Of  course, 
once  in  a  long  while  the  smoldering  genius  of  an  explor 
ing  age  will  blaze  for  a  moment  and  the  pale  critics  will 
sneer;  but  the  money-blinded  public  will  not  see  the 
blaze  at  all." 

The  youth  cast  his  line  once  more.  "  Every  age  has 
seen  the  death  of  art,  but  art  lives  on  and  never  dies." 

Coming  from  the  average  of  men  who  champion  the 
trickeries  played  upon  truth  in  the  name  of  art,  this 
speech  would  have  seemed  mechanic,  but  this  boy  souled 
his  words  with  such  feeling  that  Howerson  arose  and 
grasped  his  hand.  "  Bruce  you  have  a  secret  that  you 
must  hide  from  even  your  friends." 

"  A  secret,  Mr.  Howerson?  " 

"  Yes,  your  emotions.  Shut  them  up,  or  you  may 
see  them  tossed  on  the  horns  of  a  steer."  Then  he 
smiled,  not  at  the  boy  but  in  pitying  memory  of  a  pink 
ribbon  that  once  had  bundled  his  own  muse. 

When  the  young  man  was  gone,  the  "  sage  " 
sat  down  to  his  egg  and  butter;  and  then  he  went  out 
into  the  street,  knowing  that  the  citizens  whom  he  met 
would  more  esteem  the  establishment  of  a  glue  factory 
in  the  midst  of  them  than  the  setting  up  of  the  furnace 
from  which  might  come  forth  the  peach-blow  vase  in 
rediscovery  of  all  its  erubescent  beauty.  For  a  time 
he  walked  about,  shaking  an  occasional  hand,  waiting 
for  the  bank  to  open ;  and  when  this  expected  but  always 


148  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

great  event  took  place,  he  bought  a  draft  for  one  hun 
dred  and  fifty  dollars  payable  to  Professor  Hudsic ;  and 
returning  to  the  hotel  he  wrote  thus  to  that  dangerous 
educator : 

"  The  constant  and  I  may  say  persistent  failure  of 
the  newspapers  to  blaze  forth  a  certain  intention  known 
to  you,  has,  no  doubt,  convinced  you  that  the  event  has 
not  occurred.  Permit  me,  therefore,  to  recall  my  foolish 
oath  and  to  return  herewith  not  only  the  amount  ad 
vanced  to  me,  but  fifty  dollars  additional,  the  one  hun 
dred  to  be  handed  over  to  Miss  Zondish,  and  the  fifty 
to  be  apportioned  among  the  members  of  the  Executive 
Committee  for  sanitary  purposes.  Tell  them  to  buy 
clean  shirts,  and  take  a  better  view  of  society.  To  save 
any  of  you  the  expense  of  a  visit,  let  me  assure  you  that 
I  leave  this  place  at  once  for  parts  that  need  not  con 
cern  the  Agents." 

He  smiled  as  he  enclosed  the  letter  and  the  draft,  feel 
ing  that  the  principal  and  the  heavy  interest  ought  to 
appease  the  "  brothers,"  and  yet  with  a  second  and 
more  prophetic  eye,  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  wrath 
sure  to  break  forth.  Then  he  ceased  to  smile. 

But  what  was  this  fresh  excitement  in  the  town? 
Around  a  corner,  into  Main  Street  swept  a  great  red 
car,  a  chariot  with  blazing  brass,  with  a  goggled  chauf 
feur  who  looked  as  if  he  would  have  found  delight  in 
running  into  a  circus  parade  and  knocking  down  the 
elephant.  With  echoing  honk  and  shudder  that  shook 
the  air,  the  mighty  engine  stopped  at  the  portals  of  the 
hotel.  Old  Calvin  Whateley  had  arrived. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  HIDE  OP  THE  WOLF 

With  the  old  man  came  little  Calvin.  When  he  saw 
Howerson  he  held  out  his  arms  toward  him,  Howerson 
helped  him  to  the  ground.  Whateley  got  out,  shook 
hands  with  his  agent,  gave  him  a  look,  a  slight  smile. 
Together  they  went  into  the  hotel,  the  boy  walking 
between  them.  Whateley  spoke:  "  I  wanted  a  word 
with  you  concerning  the  mayor,  the  manner  of  man. 
Your  night  letter  made  the  situation  clear.  Mr.  Hower 
son,  I  must  say,  sir,  that  you  are  possessed  of  shrewd 
methods. ' ' 

"  The  time  was  ripe,  Mr.  Whateley." 

"  Ah,  but  it  takes  shrewdness  to  discover  the  ripe 
hour.  Tell  me  about  the  mayor." 

So  vivid  was  the  renegade  poet's  sketch,  so  quick  in 
simple  stroke,  with  ambushed  word  springing  out  to 
surprise  a  weakness,  dodging  back  upon  encountering 
a  strength,  that  old  Calvin  blinked  his  enjoyment  of 
an  art  which  to  him  was  not  an  accomplishment  but 
insight;  and  Howerson  mused,  "  How  the  devil  did  I 
do  that!  "  Then  humorously  he  deplored  that  he  had 
lied  outrageously  to  oil  the  axle  of  his  scheme,  had 
induced  them  to  believe  that  a  manufacturing  boom  for 
small  cities  must  come  out  of  labor  troubles  in  great 
civic  centers;  and  old  Calvin  assured  him  that  in  this 
he  had  but  uttered  a  truth. 

"  Only  yesterday,"  said  the  capitalist,  "  I  received 
a  letter  from  a  barbed  wire  manufacturer  in  Pennsyl- 

149 


150  THE  NEW  MB.  HOWERSON 

vania  telling  me  that  he  was  going  to  move  his  plant 
and  requesting  me  to  recommend  a  location.  Under  the 
circumstances  I'll  recommend  Glenwich  and  will  sell 
him  the  land  for  his  mill.  Let  us  go  over  to  the  mayor 's 
office." 

Routine  and  prosaic  man,  unconcerned  or  rude  in  the 
presence  of  modest  greatness,  treads  on  his  own  feet 
to  get  full  view  of  a  money  giant ;  and  Whateley  's  walk 
to  the  City  Hall  was  a  triumphal  march.  The  mayor 
caught  breeze  of  his  approach  and  came  hastily  down 
the  stone  steps  to  meet  him  on  the  sidewalk.  The  vis 
itor  was  conducted  into  a  curtained  apartment  that 
looked  like  a  stage  setting  for  "  The  Magic  Flute,"  and 
was  urged  to  sit  in  a  sort  of  a  high  priest 's  chair  in  which 
he  appeared  so  uncomfortable  that  the  boy,  dancing  on 
the  floor,  cried  out,  "  Looks  like  they  are  going  to  pull 
your  tooth,  grandpa!  "  and  the  laugh  thus  raised  so 
changed  the  atmosphere  that  every  one  seemed  more 
human.  And  old  Calvin  laughed  with  the  others,  in 
thorough  understanding  with  himself  that  though  teeth 
might  possibly  be  drawn,  the  jaw  of  his  interest  was  not 
to  ache. 

Soon  the  chamber  was  well  filled  with  aldermen  and 
other  citizens  equally  as  ready  to  sacrifice  themselves 
for  the  good  of  the  community;  and  money's  politician, 
the  "Big  Jolt,"  wreathed  each  one  of  them.  He  did 
not  speak  many  words,  but  each  word  was  a  wedge  riv 
ing  timber  for  building  in  the  future. 

Every  detail  of  every  business  has  its  throbbing  artery, 
and  fabulous-handed,  Whateley 's  fingers  seemed  to  press 
upon  every  pulse.  Every  question  was  vital.  There  was 
not  the  waste  of  a  syllable,  and  looking  on,  raptly  listen 
ing,  Howerson  mused,  "  Despair  of  to-day's  poetry, 
unskilled  of  that  stabbing  diction."  He  recalled  vaguely 


THE  HIDE  OF  THE  WOLF  151 

an  Emerson  observation,  two  professors  splitting  polemic 
hairs,  stammering  to  find  the  right  word,  while  two 
blacksmiths  talking  about  their  work,  phrased  without 
a  waver  their  direct  meaning. 

Option  givers  were  summoned.  Old  Rice  of  Sand 
Lake  was  called  by  wire.  "Whateley  broke  off  suddenly 
and  said  to  Howerson,  "  Show  little  Calvin  the  town." 
It  was  like  "  put  up  your  books  "  in  a  country  school. 
The  imaginative,  the  explorative  part  of  the  work  over 
with,  the  truant  poet  had  begun  to  weary  of  the  job, 
and  like  a  playful  dog  eager  to  be  free,  he  felt  the  collar 
slip  from  his  neck  and  heard  the  chain  fall  upon  the 
floor.  Down  the  stone  steps  he  trotted,  laughing  with 
the  boy,  holding  his  hand.  Ah,  and  how  warm  was  this 
little  paw  of  genuine  friendship !  How  true  the  heart 
that  warmed  it !  And  now  the  poet  heard  an  expres 
sion  directer  than  the  blacksmith's  word,  a  shout  of 
gladness;  and  he  felt  the  thrill  of  a  spirit  juice,  sweet 
from  Nature's  sapling. 

' '  My  mamma  cries  a  good  deal, ' '  said  the  boy  as  they 
walked  along;  "  and  my  papa  says  he'll  be  blamed  if 
he  knows  what  she's  crying  about,  and  he  goes  to  the 
window,  and  looks  out  and  whistles ;  but  you  bet  my 
grandpa  don't  cry,  only  sometimes  his  eyes  get  wet 
when  him  and  me  sit  by  the  fire  and  he  looks  too  long  at 
the  blaze  without  saying  anything.  But  that  would 
make  anybody's  eyes  water,  wouldn't  it,  Mr.  Hower 
son?  " 

"  Yes,  even  a  little  boy's  eyes." 

"  You  bet.  But  it  would  make  a  girl's  eyes  water 
quicker 'n  a  boy's  though,  wouldn't  it?  Girls  cry  when 
you  pull  their  hair.  But  I  wouldn't  pull  a  girl's  hair. 
I  tried  to  pull  a  boy's  hair  because  he  was  mean  to  me. 
It  was  so  short  I  couldn't  get  hold  of  it,  but  I  made 


152  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

him  howl  when  I  pasted  him  on  the  jaw.  But  why  are 
we  going  up  into  this  place?  " 

"It's  a  bank  and  I'm  going  to  take  all  my  money 
out" 

"  And  are  you  going  to  sign  a  check  for  it  like  I  did 
the  day  you  came  in  grandpa's  office?  " 

"  Yes,  pretty  much  the  same." 

"  But  you  couldn't  sign  your  check  for  much  money 
then.  And  don't  you  know  I  said  if  you  hooked  up 
with  grandpa  you  could?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember,  and  I  hooked  up  with  him." 

The  boy  watched  him  as  he  drew  the  check,  but  was 
not  much  interested  in  the  money;  his  attention  was 
caught  by  an  adding  machine  which  he  had  climbed  up 
to  gaze  at ;  and  when  questioned,  he  said  it  was  a  funny 
thing  all  right  enough,  but  that  he  would  rather  have 
a  Gatling  gun  like  the  one  they  shot  off  so  fast  in  the 
vaudeville  show. 

They  went  out  of  the  bank,  Howerson  telling  the  boy 
about  guns,  and  a  dog  he  once  owned,  a  creature  so  full 
of  sport  that  he  would  caper  in  delight  when  the  squirrel 
rifle  was  taken  down  from  the  wall. 

"  If  I  had  a  dog  like  that  I'd  love  him,  and  I'd 
sneak  him  into  my  bed  at  night,  like  I  done  once  with 
a  dog  the  toughs  were  throwing  stones  at,"  little  Calvin 
cried.  "  I  got  him  into  a  closet,  and  he  shook  there 
in  the  dark  and  licked  my  hand,  he  was  so  scared.  I 
brought  him  something  to  eat  on  a  silver  plate  Aunt 
Rose  give  me  Christmas,  and  in  the  night  I  sneaked 
him  into  my  bed  —  and  in  the  morning  me  and  the  dog 
got  spanked.  My  mamma  don 't  like  dogs  much  —  reg 
ular  dog  dogs,  she  don't,  but  once  she  had  an  old  pug 
dog  that  would  wink  when  you  said  anything  to  him  and 
then  go  to  sleep.  I  didn't  like  him  because  he  never 


THE  HIDE  OF  THE  WOLF  153 

was  glad  about  anything.  I  like  for  everything  to  be 
glad,  don't  you,  Mr.  Howerson?  " 

"  Yes,  birds  and  dogs  and  boys;  and  the  buds  are 
glad  to  come  out,  and  flowers  to  bloom,  and  I  believe 
that  God  is  glad  when  we  are." 

They  came  abreast  of  a  shop  in  whose  show  windows 
were  hung  up  overcoats  made  of  the  skins  of  animals, 
and  Howerson  said,  "  Let's  go  into  this  place  a  moment." 
He  had  caught  sight  of  a  wolf-hide  coat  that  he  fancied 
would  fit  the  boy.  The  dealer  brought  it  out  and  Calvin 
tried  it  on,  trembling  with  delight,  and  a  fear  seized 
him  lest  it  might  not  be  deemed  a  fit;  but  it  was,  and 
he  went  out,  wearing  it,  almost  buoyed  off  the  ground  in 
his  happiness. 

"  Most  too  warm  for  that  coat  to-day  though,  Calvin." 

"  Oh,  no;  it's  getting  awful  cold,  Mr.  Howerson.  I 
believe  it 's  going  to  snow.  Just  look  how  the  wind  blows ! 
Gee !  And  did  a  wolf  gallop  around  with  this  skin  on  ?  ' : 

' '  You  bet  he  did,  in  the  dark  night ;  and  he  sat  on 
the  hilltop  in  the  timber  and  howled  when  the  moon 
came  up." 

"  And  if  I  had  come  along  there  he'd  jumped  on  me, 
wouldn't  he?  " 

"  He  would  that." 

"  Then  I'm  glad  I've  got  his  skin.  Woo,  it's  fine,  and 
—  won't  you  let  me  put  my  arms  around  your  neck 
like  grandpa  does?  " 

With  a  gulp  in  his  throat  this  big  tenderness  so  lately 
a  vagabond  lifted  the  little  fellow  from  the  ground,  and 
about  his  neck  he  felt  the  wolfskin,  tight;  and  there  in 
the  street  he  could  have  sung  a  hymn,  the  words  he 
had  spoken  to  Sam  Joyce,  "  I  believe  there  is  a  Father 
because  I  have  met  the  son." 

They  wandered  about  till  the  noon  bells  were  striking, 


154  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

and  then  they  returned  to  the  city  hall.  When  old 
Calvin  saw  the  boy  clothed  in  the  garment  of  a  wolf, 
he  laughed  loud,  as  few  people  had  ever  heard  him 
laugh.  Taking  Calvin  in  his  arms,  he  said  to  Hower- 
son.  ' '  We  thank  you,  don 't  we,  Calvin  ?  And  now,  Mr. 
Howerson,  let  us  go  to  the  hotel,  get  a  bite  to  eat  and 
then  to  town.  You  go  in  with  me.  Everything  that 
can  be  done  here  for  the  present,  has  been  done.  Mr. 
Mayor,  I  shall  expect  to  see  you  within  a  few  days, 
sir." 

' '  At  your  convenience,  of  course,  Mr.  Whateley, ' '  the 
mayor  replied,  turning  with  his  visitors  toward  the  door. 
"  About  how  soon  shall  be  we  expect  them  to  begin 
work  on  that  barbed  wire  factory?  " 

"  I  can't  say  exactly  when,  but  very  soon,  I  am  con 
vinced.  Well,  good  day." 

After  the  arrival  of  Whateley,  Howerson  could  not 
remain  great  in  the  eye  of  the  mayor,  but  though  in  his 
parting  handshake  there  was  not  much  of  reverence, 
there  was  considerable  of  fervor.  He  came  down  to  the 
bottom  of  the  steps,  doubtless  in  the  hope  that  passing 
citizens  might  see  Whateley  turn  and  wave  him  a  fare 
well,  but  the  brisk  old  man  did  not  look  back. 

"  He  calls  you  a  great  orator,"  Whateley  said  to 
Howerson.  "  Said  you  made  a  wonderful  speech." 

"  I  think,  sir,  that  he  heard  the  tongue  of  his  own 
interest,"  Howerson  replied,  and  the  old  man  chuckled 
shrewdly. 

At  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk  slept  the  great  red  monster, 
waiting  to  rush  the  old  man  to  town.  Little  Calvin,  in 
his  wolf-hide,  was  joyous  to  sit  between  his  grandfather 
and  his  friend.  It  was  Howerson  alone  who  waved 
good-bye  to  a  town  not  destined  to  become  one  of  the 
world's  great  cities  but  ever  to  hold  place  as  the  metrop 
olis  of  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XIH. 
ANOTHER  MISSION 

Toward  the  city  the  panting  dragon  tore  its  exultant 
way,  bellowing  on  the  hilltops.  Whateley's  photo 
graphic  eye  turned  its  lens  slowly  upon  the  whirling 
scene,  taking  motion  pictures  of  it  all,  and  Howerson's 
mind  made  this  remark  unto  itself:  "  That  marvelous 
gray  orb  will  hold  a  darker  shadow  one  of  these  days, 
when  I  make  a  confession  —  and  the  time  must  come." 

The  boy  was  singing  his  happiness,  waving  at  somber 
men,  tired  women  and  eager  children  who  stood  watch 
ing  the  great  machine  pass  by. 

The  old  man  spoke:  "  Mr.  Howerson,  we'll  have  to 
figure  up  how  much  is  due  you  out  of  this  transaction. 
We'll  do  that  at  the  office." 

"  After  paying  our  options  I  have  something  like  four 
thousand  left  out  of  the  five  thousand  you  sent  me,  Mr. 
Whateley." 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  considerably  more  than  that  due 
you.  We  '11  figure  it  out. ' ' 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  already  overpaid.  The  fact  is,  I 
haven't  done  much  of  anything.  You  must  settle  with 
me  as  you  would  with  any  ordinary  agent.  It  was  your 
name,  sir  —  your  name  and  a  little  luck  on  my  part 
that  did  it  all." 

The  old  man  laughed  and  the  boy  shouted.  "  Ability 
makes  luck,"  Whateley  said.  Then  after  a  time  he 
added:  "  But  there  is  such  a  thing  as  luck.  We  pride 
ourselves  on  our  judgment,  but  the  better  part  of  fore- 

155 


156  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

sight  is  luck.  If  you  ask  me  what  luck  is,  I  must 
answer  that  I  don't  know.  But  we  all  acknowledge 
chance.  Why,  sir,  I  have  known  men  to  become  rich 
for  lack  of  opportunity.  Unable  at  a  certain  time  to 
sell,  men  have  been  forced  to  hold  on  to  property  that 
afterward  made  them  wealthy.  No,  Mr.  Howerson,  it 
was  your  own  ability,  which  you  were  lucky  to  possess, 
that  got  the  scheme  through,  and  I  congratulate  you. 
What  do  you  intend  to  do  now?  " 

"  I  am  with  you,  sir." 

"  And  with  me,  too,"  shouted  the  boy. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  hear  you  say  that,  Mr.  Howerson," 
said  Whateley.  ' '  I  need  you  and  I  'm  sure  we  can  come 
to  terms." 

' '  The  terms  are  your  own, ' '  Howerson  replied.  ' '  But 
you  must  know  that  I  am  a  man  of  no  experience  in 
business.  You  may  ask  me  why  I  have  lived  so  long 
without  a  definite  aim,  and  I  could  answer  that  my  aim 
was  unsteady  and  that  I  shot  wide  of  the  mark.  I  mis 
took  a  mediocre  cleverness  in  marshaling  words  for  an 
ability  to  write  poetry,  but  I  lacked  a  certain  strategy 
and  I  failed.  But  a  man  with  not  quite  the  imagination 
for  romance  may  be  useful  in  certain  business  schemes, 
and  as  such  I  offer  myself,  with  this  understanding: 
that  for  a  year  I  am  to  receive  no  stated  salary.  But 
after  a  year  of  service  you  are  to  pay  me  what  you  con 
sider  me  worth.  Is  this  a  fair  proposition?  " 

Whateley  put  his  hand  on  Howerson 's  shoulder. 
' '  More  than  fair.  I  have  trusted  you,  and  now  you  may 
trust  me.  At  times  you  may  find  me  hard  to  get  along 
with,  but —  " 

"  No  you  won't,"  little  Calvin  cried  out,  snuggling 
close  to  his  friend. 

"  But  bear  with  me,"  the  old  man  continued.  "  and 


ANOTHER  MISSION  157 

you  '11  find  me  disposed  to  make  everything  right.  There 
is  one  thing  I  demand  and  I  believe  you  possess  it: 
absolute  honesty.  They  may  tell  you  that  I  have  out 
witted  men  for  my  own  advantage,  and  I  have;  that 
was  business.  But  no  one  can  tell  you  truthfully  that 
I  have  ever  failed  to  keep  my  word.  And  now  as  to 
a  piece  of  immediate  business :  I  have  the  offer  of  a  sugar 
plantation  in  Louisiana.  It  is  an  extensive  estate,  and 
having  just  come  through  a  long  period  of  litigation, 
is,  I  suppose,  considerably  run  down.  I  want  you  to 
see  it  and  report  on  it,  to  determine  whether  in  your 
judgment  it  is  worth  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars." 

"  I  am  more  than  willing  to  go,  but  my  judgment 
may  not  be  worth  anything.  I  have  never  seen  a  sugar 
plantation." 

"  But  in  a  roundabout  way  you  can  find  out  what 
adjoining  plantations  are  worth,  and  from  such  informa 
tion  form  your  own  estimate.  I  am  led  to  believe  that 
for  cash  they  are  willing  to  part  with  it  at  a  sacrifice. 
We'll  enter  into  it  more  in  detail  at  the  office.  Come 
home  with  me  to  dinner  to-night. ' ' 

Howerson  answered  that  he  should  be  pleased  to,  and 
the  boy  clutched  his  arm  and  cried  out  that  it  would  be 
fun.  After  this  business  talk  "Whateley  was  silent. 
With  his  coat  collar  turned  up  about  his  ears,  he  faced 
grimly  the  wind  now  blowing  hard  from  Lake  Michigan. 

In  the  workshop  is  a  fitter  place  to  study  character 
than  in  an  automobile,  but  Howerson,  making  the  most 
of  every  opportunity  to  get  at  the  soul  of  the  man  with 
whose  interest  he  was  to  be  indefinitely  linked,  sought 
to  probe  into  his  silence  without  disturbing  it.  Imagina 
tion  weaves  its  own  story  into  the  strains  of  music, 
divergent  from  the  romance  intended  by  the  composer. 


158  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

and  in  speculative  mood  ourselves,  we  may  invest  the 
mind  of  a  silent  companion  with  a  world  of  conjecture. 
' '  The  Agents  of  Justice  said  you  went  about  in  a  closed 
automobile,"  Howerson  mused.  "  They  called  you  a 
coward,  but  here  you  are  in  the  open  where  anybody 
could  take  a  shot  at  you.  That  eye  of  yours,  what  a 
study!  And  yet  it  was  deceived,  as  the  world  is,  by 
the  sham  of  clothes  —  you  could  not  see  murder  in  a 
heart  behind  a  white  shirt.  Ah,  but  perhaps  it  was  I 
who  thought  I  could  see  murder  in  that  heart  and  did 
not.  His  eye  may  have  been  truer  to  him  than  my  insane 
heart  was  to  its  tragic  purpose." 

When  the  car  halted  at  the  curb  in  front  of  Whateley  's 
office,  little  Calvin  made  a  motion  to  get  out.  "  No,  my 
son,"  said  the  old  man,  "  you  must  go  on  home."  The 
boy  rebelled.  "  Yes,  you  must,  and  show  your  mother 
your  coat." 

The  boy  yielded,  but  hung  upon  a  stipulation.  ' '  And 
will  Mr.  Howerson  come  with  you  sure?  "  Howerson 
assured  him,  and  sitting  back,  he  turned  up  the  collar 
of  his  coat,  after  the  manner  of  the  old  man,  and  sped 
toward  home.  For  a  time  Whateley  looked  after  him 
and  then  turned  toward  the  scene  of  his  sharp  transac 
tions  wherein  his  hired  talent  labored  at  its  task,  dread 
ing  to  see  him  enter.  , 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Howerson,  as  they  reached  the 
elevator,  "  if  you  don't  wish  to  enter  at  once  upon  the 
details  of  my  trip  South,  I  have  some  matters  that  I 
should  like  to  attend  to.  It's  hardly  safe  to  go  around 
with  several  thousand  dollars  in  my  pocket.  I  am  not  — 
er  —  acquainted  at  any  of  the  banks,  and  if  you  will  be 
kind  enough  to  give  me  a  word,  I  should  be  —  "by  this 
time  Whateley  had  scrawled  on  an  envelope.  "  I  thank 
you,  sir." 


ANOTHER  MISSION  159 

"  All  right.  It  is  now  two  thirty.  Be  at  the  office  by 
five  fifteen." 

"I'll  be  there." 

To  a  bald-headed  solemnity  in  a  marble-slabbed  house 
of  dollars  Howerson  gave  the  envelope,  and  a  smile  of 
welcome  spread  broadcast  over  the  financier's  counten 
ance  and  so  far  upward  as  to  gleam  on  the  crest  of  his 
cranium. 

It  was  so  pleasant  to  have  money  in  his  pocket  that 
this  new  depositor  kept  back  five  hundred  and  went 
forth  with  his  suitcase  to  touch  up  his  wardrobe  and  to 
have  his  silk  hat  ironed.  Then  he  bought  a  watch,  won 
dering  as  to  who  was  now  wearing  a  ticker  of  life's 
seconds  once  the  timekeeper  of  his  father's  sermons,  a 
proud  possession,  but  long  since  entrusted  to  a  stranger 
over  whose  door  hung  a  bunch  of  enormous  grapes,  but 
only  three  in  number. 

Now  arose  the  question  as  to  what  hotel  would  be 
safest.  He  realized  that  at  no  time  had  his  mind  been 
free  from  the  dread  of  meeting  an  Agent  of  Justice, 
and  now  that  he  had  returned  to  the  scene  of  his  wasted 
life  and  his  oath,  the  dread  grew  heavier.  In  the 
crowded  streets  he  imagined  that  everyone  in  front 
turned  to  look  back  at  him,  and  that  in  the  rear  everyone 
was  dogging  his  footsteps.  Suddenly  he  felt  his  heart 
hang  still  between  two  beats,  and  then  to  strike  like  the 
swing  of  a  sledge.  And  what  was  it  that  had  in  an 
instant  damned  up  his  blood  and  in  a  moment  torn  it 
loose  ?  A  red  cap,  an  eye  gazing  through  a  window  at  him 
—  Annie  Zondish !  He  stood  still,  unable  to  see  clearly, 
for  a  glimmer  like  the  shake-air  heat  down  the  dusty 
summer  road  seemed  to  dance  before  his  eyes.  In  that 
second  standing  still  his  thoughts  were  an  hour  long. 
Boy  companions  had  called  him  a  game  fellow,  and  he 


160  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

was  as  game  as  the  victor  of  a  cock-pit,  and  had  been  as 
much  disposed  to  crow  over  it;  but  who  ever  came  off 
crowing  from  an  encounter  with  a  woman?  Roxey 
Brooks,  Queen  of  the  Sand  Lots  of  early  memory,  in 
fair  fist  fight  whipped  more  than  a  score  of  lusty  men, 
but  when  finally  a  little  Irishman  knocked  her  out,  he 
was  voted  a  coward  by  "  society  "  that  had  been  con 
quered. 

Taking  them  one  at  a  time  or  even  all  of  them  at 
once,  if  desperate  occasion  demanded,  Howerson  would 
have  fought  the  brothers  with  dramatic  heroism,  but 
the  ' '  sister  ' '  —  nothing  had  taught  him  how  to  face 
her  fury  or  to  ward  off  the  thrust  of  her  blade.  When 
his  strength  came  back  to  him  he  would  have  run 
away,  trampling  down  the  bargain-counter  shoppers, 
but  just  at  this  moment  his  vision  cleared  and  he  saw 
that  the  red  cap  was  a  hat  trimmed  in  that  clamorous 
color,  worn  by  a  meek  creature  whose  gaze  had  been 
fastened  not  upon  him  but  upon  a  bit  of  lace  hanging  in 
the  window. 

"I'd  like  to  make  a  bet  with  myself,"  he  mused  as 
he  turned  away.  "  I  want  to  bet  that  I'm  not  going  to 
be  scared  again.  I'm  going  to  let  the  past  and  future 
take  care  of  themselves;  they  always  have.  But  we've 
got  to  employ  a  little  judgment  as  we  go  along,  and  I 
believe  I  'd  be  safer  at  a  big  hotel. ' ' 

In  a  tavern  where  titles  trotting  about  the  earth  are 
wont  to  halt  awhile  to  blow,  he  inscribed  a  book.  Grimly 
he  smiled  as  out  of  smoky  memory  arose  the  stenchy 
lodging  house  wherein  he  had  reposed  his  rags  upon  a 
slab,  his  fanatic  heart  almost  beating  the  Zondish  dol 
lars  down  into  the  hard  board.  "  But  that  was  in 
another  life,  ages  and  ages  ago,"  he  mused. 

Later,   and  out  on  the  pavement,  he  looked  at  his 


ANOTHER  MISSION  161 

watch,  golden  threshing  machine  of  time,  as  leisurely 
he  walked  along.  Compared  with  an  electric  regulator 
on  a  jeweler's  wall,  it  was  disposed  to  thresh  too  fast. 
He  halted  and  was  setting  it  when  a  voice  near  him 
called  out : 

"  Is  it  possible  that  this  is  George  Howerson!  " 

He  started,  as  if  he  would  leap  away  from  his  name, 
but  looked  on  the  dodge,  and  there  stood  as  ragged  a 
thing  as  ever  caused  frightened  crow  to  caw  warning  to 
a  mate.  With  yellow  whiskers  as  bushy  as  the  tail  of 
a  red  fox,  the  thing  yet  had  the  voice  of  a  man.  He 
took  off  a  hat  that  threatened  to  shower  down  in  pieces 
upon  the  sidewalk,  and  said:  "  I've  been  watching  you 
for  several  minutes  and  I  didn't  think  I  could  be  mis 
taken  in  that  tragedian  face.  You  don't  mean  to  say 
you've  forgotten  Yal  Watkins." 

Howerson  thrust  forth  his  hand.  "  You  don't  mean 
it,  Yal.  Why—" 

"  Never  mind  trying  to  pump  up  any  unnecessary 
astonishment,  George.  No  matter  what  sort  of  a  fix 
you  find  a  fellow  in,  you  oughtn't  to  show  surprise 
unless  he  shows  by  his  air  that  he  wants  you  to,"  said 
the  tattered  philosopher.  "  Take  me  down  into  that 
den  across  the  way  —  they  '11  let  anybody  in  there  —  and 
watch  me  while  I  devour  a  few.  Do  this  for  old  time's 
sake  and  then  I'll  turn  you  loose.  Don't  ask  me  any 
questions  here,  for  paradoxical  as  it  may  seen,  I'm 
hungry." 

Without  a  word  Howerson  took  him  by  the  arm  and 
led  him  across  the  street,  down  into  a  "dive"  steaming 
with  kraut  and  stewed  tripe. 

"  Now  sit  down,  Yal,  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 
'  Yes,  but  first  regale  me  with  a  stein  and  some  of 
those  savory  dishes  that  feed  the  air. ' ' 


162  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  You  go  ahead  and  order  what  you  want,  especially 
in  the  line  of  something  to  eat.  I  Ve  become  leary  of  the 
other  stuff." 

"  All  right,  but  smile  your  favors  on  me  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  waiter.  He  takes  me  for  a  humorist  and 
might  look  on  my  order  as  an  old  joke.  Thank  you, 
George.  One  more  sunbeam  like  that  and  I  get  every 
thing  on  the  bill." 

While  he  was  ordering,  Howerson  sat  gazing  rem- 
iniscently  upon  him,  and  back  to  mind  he  came,  a  gay 
comedian,  working  "  stock  "  at  the  old  Dearborn  Street 
Theatre.  The  stage  may  have  been  his  early  love  but 
offered  not  his  early  occupation,  for  when  Howerson 
first  knew  him  he  was  salesman  for  a  cigar  house,  comic 
in  saloons  at  night,  with  "  take-off,"  song  and  story. 
Then  he  sacrificed  salary  for  ambition,  out  of  which 
course  comes  the  art  of  the  world.  But  drudgery, 
rehearsing  one  play  while  playing  another,  with  a 
performance  every  night  and  three  matinees  a  week, 
wore  hard  on  his  mind,  broke  him  down  and  he  lost 
his  job.  They  said  it  was  liquor,  and  perhaps  largely 
it  was.  Drudging  labor  may  fail  of  its  purpose  when 
its  purpose  is  to  wear  one  out,  while  liquor  sooner  or 
later  attains  its  aim,  as  you  have  often  heard  tell  and 
as  you  will  continue  to  hear  as  long  as  you  live.  The 
moralizing  drinker  will  assure  you  of  this  fact,  standing 
at  the  bar,  and  you  will  agree  with  him  as  you  take  your 
drink.  Watkins  recovered  in  a  way,  and  found  employ 
ment  together  with  Howerson  in  a  dramatic  company 
traveling  to  Loon  Lake,  Beaver  Dam,  Hodge  Center, 
Lett's  Corners  and  other  seats  of  tragic  art.  He  was 
Grave-digger  at  Elsinore  and  Cobbler  at  Rome,  and 
howled  with  lusty  lungs  when  Howerson  Antonied  the 
mob;  but  at  Beaver  Dam  the  ship  of  drama  went  to 


ANOTHER  MISSION  163 

pieces  on  a  rock;  and  as  fruit  was  ripening  in  the 
orchards,  the  Cobbler  and  the  Antony  of  this  unseason 
able  voyage  picked  their  way  back  to  Chicago. 

Here  they  took  a  room,  together  with  an  ancient 
scissors  grinder  known  as  Old  Luke.  Watkins  was  too 
much  crippled  in  habits  to  get  back  immediately  into 
any  abandoned  field  of  trade  or  of  drama,  and  for  a 
time  he  let  his  whiskers  grow  out  and  bush  at  will.  In 
his  household  they  called  him  "  Yellow  "  then  "  Yel- 
ler  "  and  then  "Yal."  He  had  a  knack  of  going  out 
and  fetching  in  liquor,  bottles  with  red  stars  on  the 
outside  and  long-tailed  comets  within.  It  was  Old  Luke 's 
habit  to  get  drunk  every  night,  and  as  it  appeared  that 
Yal's  whiskers  had  some  relationship  with  his  ability  to 
"  fetch,"  the  increasing  bushiness  of  his  beard  was, 
looked  upon  as  a  hopeful  ' '  sign  of  the  times. ' ' 

' '  Yal  ' '  struck  a  prosperous  streak,  and  rented  a  room 
opening  into  the  family  homestead;  and  he  could  well 
afford  it,  being  now  installed  as  special  agent  for  the 
Wolf  brand  of  coffee.  After  a  time  he  enlarged  the  scope 
of  his  business  domain,  added  Tiger  Tea,  and  one  day 
stepped  into  the  homestead  in  a  garb  out-lilying  the  lily, 
blushing  it  into  a  tulip.  He  had  on  white  duck  trousers, 
a  yellow  "  wescut  "  covered  with  red  vines,  and  a  blue 
broadcloth  coat.  His  beard  was  trimmed.  You  could 
see  yourself  in  his  patent  leathers,  and  his  gloves  smelled 
like  a  Vassar  commencement.  Howerson  whistled.  The 
old  man  looked  round,  dropped  his  pipe  and  sighed, 
11  Good-bye." 

Yal  brought  with  him  a  bit  of  society  news.  ' '  Gentle 
men,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  that  you  are  more  or  less 
interested  in  my  affairs,  and  I  have  therefore  some 
thing  to  impart  to  you,  hoping  that  you'll  pardon  me 
for  not  having  sooner  taken  you  into  my  confidence. 


164  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Not  long  ago  I  met  a  most  charming  young  woman,  at  a 
boarding  house  where  I  was  received  with  many  marks 
of  favor,  especially  after  I  added  tea  to  my  repertory. 
Romantic  parents  in  a  short-grass  district  of  Kansas  had 
bestowed  upon  her  the  name  of  Lucile,  and  she  showed 
me  the  blue-bound  book  from  which  they  had  labeled  a 
greater  poem.  She  had  been  a  model  in  the  cloak  depart 
ment  of  a  department  store,  but  as  it  was  too  conspicuous 
for  her  modesty  she  resigned  from  the  position,  and  at 
the  time  of  my  introduction  to  her  she  was  cashier  in  a 
cheese  house.  Long  story  short,  I  loved,  she  loved.  Long 
story  shorter,  we  are  now  living  in  a  flat  over  on  the 
West  Side." 

' '  Married !  ' '  groaned  old  Luke.  ' '  You  heard  me  say 
good-bye,  didn't  you,  Howerson?  " 

' '  Married  ?  Just  a  little  more  of  your  valuable  time, ' ' 
Yal  continued.  "  Don't  believe  I  ever  told  you,  but  a 
number  of  years  ago  I  married  what  I  conceived  to  be  as 
sweet  a  widow  as  ever  dampened  a  black  veil  with  her 
tears.  I  stand  now  unshaken  in  my  belief  that  after 
this  marriage  the  devil  ascended  the  highest  mountain 
in  his  extensive  territory  and  laughed  to  think  that 
in  this  marriage  he  had  been  relieved  of  the  responsi 
bility  of  looking  after  his  twin  sister.  And,  long  story 
continuing  to  be  short,  I  withdrew  myself  from  her 
presence.  Her  brother,  the  devil,  objected,  and  I  was 
not  able  to  get  a  divorce.  To  spite  me  she  held  me  as 
much  as  she  could  by  law,  and  so,  legally  I  am  still 
married  to  her,  but  in  soul,  to  Lucile. ' ' 

He  retained  the  room,  keeping  samples  in  it,  and  would 
drop  in  every  day  to  speak  on  the  subject  of  his  own 
happiness.  "  I  have  found  women  in  cantos  of  poetry 
and  chapters  of  romance,"  he  said,  "  but  none  that 
could  light  Lucile  upstairs.  When  I  used  to  go  home 


ANOTHER  MISSION  165 

a  little  late,  Elizabeth,  my  wife-in-law,  would  raise  the 
roof  and  let  it  fall  on  me.  If  I  said  anything,  she'd 
howl;  if  I  didn't,  she'd  shriek.  ButLucile!  Let  me  tell 
you  something:  When  I  go  home  now  I  find  coffee  and 
slippers  waiting  and  Lucile  reciting  poetry.  Angel, 
that 's  all  there  is  to  it ;  angel  and  can 't  help  it. ' ' 

One  day  when  he  came  in  he  tried  to  look  sad  but 
failed.  He  told  them  that  his  wife-in-law  was  dead. 

"  That's  worth  a  bottle,"  said  old  Luke.  "  Go  out 
and  get  it." 

He  did ;  he  brought  a  bottle  that  bore  three  stars,  and 
with  a  quart  of  cream  stolen  from  a  hallway  they  made 
a  milky  way,  and  sang  songs,  the  bereaved  sometimes 
joining  in  the  chorus. 

"  Know  what  I'm  going  to  do?  "  said  Yal.  "  I  am 
going  to  marry  Lucile. ' ' 

"  Good-bye,"  muttered  the  old  man. 

He  married  her.  Then  he  gave  up  his  room.  .  .  . 
One  night  he  came  in,  tired  and  woe-worn  in  look. 

"  What's  up  now?  "  Howerson  inquired. 

"  Everything.  I  can't  live  with  her.  As  soon  as  she 
got  the  law  on  me,  she  —  "he  drooped  his  way  out ;  and 
when  he  came  again  he  told  them  that  the  hussy  had  run 
away  with  a  tax  assessor.  He  drooped  in  a  corner  like 
a  dog  that  has  been  kicked,  the  spirit  gone  out  of  him, 
and  in  the  dark  hours  they  heard  him  groan,  but  in  the 
morning  he  was  not  there;  nor  did  the  old  grinder  of 
scissors  ever  see  him  again.  Death  issued  a  bench  war 
rant  for  the  ancient  philosopher  and  placed  it  for  ser 
vice  in  the  hands  of  pneumonia,  one  of  the  most  active 
of  deputies.  As  the  poet  was  unable  to  keep  up  so  large 
an  establishment,  the  old  homestead  was  abandoned: 
rent  due,  thirty-seven  dollars  and  fifty  cents.  And  now, 
years  afterward,  this  phonographic  record  played  off  as 


166  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Howerson  sat  there,  silent  while  Yal  Watkins  sat  before 
him  feeding  like  a  wolf. 

' '  Long  time  since  I  saw  you,  Yal  —  since  you  disap 
peared  that  night." 

"  Yep,"  He  foamed  his  beard  from  the  stein. 
''Good  while." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  Lucile  again?  " 

"  Once,  not  a  great  while  ago.  Being  the  possessor 
of  five  pennies  I  went  into  a  moving  picture  show  to 
sleep,  and  I  don't  know  how  many  performances  I  must 
have  slept  through,  when  I  awoke  in  the  midst  of  a 
pathetic  scene,  where  the  rich  lady  gets  out  of  her  car 
riage  to  bestow  a  short  coin  on  the  heroic  tramp  who  has 
just  jumped  off  a  bridge  into  a  river  and  saved  her 
beautiful  little  daughter  from  drowning.  '  This  is  my 
time,'  I  says  to  myself;  and  then  I  whispers  to  a  lady 
who  sat  beside  me  in  the  tearful  twilight:  '  Ma'm,'  I 
says,  '  I  am  a  poor  tramp  and  I  have  saved  girls  from 
drowning  —  made  a  business  of  it.  Won't  you  please 
give  me  as  much  as  ten  cents,  which  imperious  nature 
urges  me  to  invest  in  provender?  '  Just  then  the  light 
leaped  up  and  I  recognized  Lucile.  Pride  mastered  me, 
George.  You  may  believe  that  a  man  can  sink  below  all 
pride,  but  he  can 't.  No,  he  has  some  left  no  matter  how 
low.  So  I  said  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  cannot  accept  ten 
cents  from  you. '  She  fidgeted  about  to  let  me  pass,  and 
I  caught  a  whiff  of  her  unmistakable  perfume.  That  was 
my  last  sight  of  her.  .  .  .  Lord,  but  you  are  festive. 
What  are  you  doing  now,  George  ?  ' ' 

"  Well,  I'm  not  selling  family  albums." 

"  No,  nor  poetry  either,  from  the  looks  of  those  duds. 
I'm  glad  to  see  you  doing  well,  but  as  for  me,  I  guess 
I'm  down  to  stay.  I  used  to  light  on  my  feet  when  I 
fell  —  on  one  foot  anyhow  —  but  the  last  time  I  hit  the 


ANOTHER  MISSION  167 

ground  all  over.  Don't  suppose  you  ever  begged,  did 
you,  George?  " 

Howerson  shuddered.  "  Gods,  no!  But  there  was  a 
time  and  not  so  long  ago  in  actual  days  but  centuries  in 
the  mind  when  I  was  ready  for  anything  —  suicide, 
murder.  Then  Fate 's  eye  twinkled  a  change  and  —  ' ' 

"  Run  it  down,  George.  Don't  blank  verse  me;  tell 
me  about  it. ' ' 

"  Not  now,  Yal.  But  I'll  tell  you  this,  old  fellow: 
You  are  coming  up  again.  I'm  going  to  help  you,  and 
the  only  way  to  help  a  man  is  to  help  him  to  help  him 
self;  and  a  man  sometimes  succeeds  best  in  a  line  he 
happens  on  by  accident,  Yal." 

"Some  men,  maybe  so,  George;  but  not  me.  I  have 
to  know  something  about  the  works  of  a  scheme  before 
I  can  do  anything  with  it.  I  'm  down  and  out. ' ' 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,  Yal.  Get  through  with  your 
snack  and  we'll  make  something  happen." 

Watkins  shook  his  head.  "  You  can  come  down  and 
talk  clod  when  you  try,  George,  and  I  appreciate  your 
faith  in  me,  but  it 's  too  late. ' ' 

"  No,  not  too  late,  Yal.    Come  with  me." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
A  NEW  MR.  WATKINS 

Tenderer  of  tread  than  one  who  minces  merely  on  his 
uppers,  Watkins  limped  across  the  cobbles,  holding  tight 
the  arm  of  his  friend.  In  the  crowd  hardly  anything  is 
grotesque,  for  all  you  catch  of  it  is  a  glimpse.  But 
among  the  leisurely  gazers  of  a  village  where  human 
oddities  laugh  at  things  unseemly  to  them,  what  a  snicker 
would  have  enlivened  the  scene  of  a  silk  hat  escorting 
a  bundle  of  rags ! 

At  the  portals  of  a  big  department  store  Yal  pulled 
back,  saying  they  would  not  let  him  enter,  but  Hower- 
son  urged  him  gently  on,  encouraging  him,  remembering 
his  own  repulse  from  that  great,  crowd-swallowing  door. 
Coming  without  a  protector  Bags,  would  have  fluttered 
faster  coming  out  than  going  in,  but  now  they  gave  a 
kindly  smile  to  the  protege  of  millionaire  benevolence. 
And  not  long  afterward,  when  Howerson  and  Mr.  Wat- 
kins,  Esq.,  came  out  of  a  bath  parlor  wherein  the  latter 
had  arrayed  himself  in  shining  raiment,  the  soul-search 
ing  eyes  of  his  faithful  dog,  had  he  possessed  one,  might 
not  have  recognized  him.  With  beard  trimmed  to  cav 
alier  point,  with  modest  though  fetching  necktie,  with 
silk  hat  flashing  in  kindred  to  Howerson 's  own,  with 
Easter  in  his  step  and  a  July  glow  of  gratitude  in  his 
eye,  this  man,  new  without  and  within,  kept  glad  pace 
with  his  old  companion,  new  also  in  body  and  in  soul. 

' c  Where  are  you  taking  me  now,  George  ?  ' ' 

"I'm  leading  you  around,  to  accustom  you  to  the 

168 


A  NEW  MR.  WATKINS  169 

altitude.  My  shoot-up  was  as  sudden  as  yours,  and  it 
almost  took  my  breath.  The  doctors  say  it's  dangerous." 
Howerson  laughed.  "  The  old  scissors  grinder  would 
call  you  a  fetcher  now,  sure  enough.  Poor  old  chap  — 
never  could  get  together  money  enough  to  keep  from 
getting  drunk." 

"  George,  that  might  sound  funny  to  some  folks," 
said  Mr.  Watkins;  "  but  you  and  I  know  that  poverty 
is  more  the  cause  of  drunkenness  than  drunkenness  is  of 
poverty. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  we  feel  it,  and  it  takes  strong  evidence  to  prove 
away  a  feeling.  The  spirit  of  reformation  is  the  spirit 
of  responsibility.  When  a  fellow  is  too  proud  to  steal 
we  call  him  honest." 

"  That's  right.  .  .  .  Old  Thespian,  you've  spent 
about  a  hundred  on  me  and  have  given  me  ten  dollars 
besides.  Now  what  ?  What  do  you  ask  of  me  ?  ' ' 

"  Not  to  pawn  your  coat." 

"  Same  sententious  old  George.  And  which  means — " 

' '  That  you  are  to  go  to  work. ' ' 

"  Watch  me,  George,"  and  slowly  they  walked  along. 
Suddenly  Yal  brought  his  friend  to  a  halt,  pointing  to 
a  sign  which  at  night  broke  out  in  electric  bubbles  across 
the  whole  front  of  a  building,  the  name  of  a  cigar,  and 
said:  "  I  used  to  work  for  the  people  who  sell  that 
noxious  weed,  and  I  believe  that  if  old  John  Cravier  is 
living  and  could  size  me  up  now,  he'd  give  me  a  job. 
Let's  go  over  and  see." 

Old  John  Cravier  was  living,  was  at  his  desk  in  the 
office,  occupying  a  chair  which  during  thirty  years  he 
had  left  twice  on  vacation,  once  to  attend  a  grand  Con 
clave  of  Templars  in  Los  Angeles  and  once  to  give  one 
hundred  and  eight  dollars  for  a  ten  minutes'  fight  with 
a  Minnesota  muskellunge  which,  owing  to  the  snapping 


170  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

of  a  line,  did  not  now,  stuffed  and  with  sharp  teeth 
showing,  occupy  a  place  on  the  old  man's  wall.  He 
remembered  Watkins  who  foolishly  had  quit  a  growing 
business  to  chase  shadows  on  the  stage.  Could  it  be 
possible  that  this  was  the  same  Watkins?  Yal  assured 
him  that  it  was,  and  Howerson,  who  by  this  time  had 
been  introduced,  stood  up  straight  and  from  the  depths 
of  his  important  chest  vouched  for  the  fact. 

"  After  all,"  said  the  old  man,  "  there  isn't  so  much 
of  a  change  in  you  except  that  you  are  —  well,  even  a 
little  more  dressy  than  you  used  to  be.  And  your  friend, 
Mr.  —  urn-urn  —  is  he  in  the  cigar  business  ?  Won 't  you 
sit  down?  " 

They  sat  down  and  Mr.  ' '  um  —  um  ' '  spoke  for  him 
self,  glancing  at  his  watch.  No,  just  at  present  he  was 
not  in  the  cigar  business,  but  his  friend  Watkins  thought 
of  reentering  that  particular  branch  of  trade,  after  his 
long  vacation  abroad.  "  Mr.  Watkins,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  "  I  think  we  need  you.  Call  to-morrow  at 
nine  o'clock." 

Out  in  the  street  again  and  walking  toward  Whateley  's 
office,  Howerson  said:  "  How  easy  it  is  for  the  pros 
perous.  ' ' 

' '  You  bet  you, ' '  laughed  Yal,  keeping  quick  step  with 
him.  "  It's  a  dark  day  when  the  flash  don't  fetch  'em. 
That  long  vacation  abroad  was  a  deadener.  Abroad  at 
night  without  a  bed,  you  must  have  meant.  Virtuous 
is  he  who  lies  for  a  friend." 

"  Yes,  Colonel  Watkins,  and  as  the  poet  hath  it,  or 
ought  to,  '  thrice  armed  is  he  who  finds  his  lying  just.'  " 

"  Verily,  verily.  And  watch  old  Yal's  smoke.  I  land 
back  into  that  business  with  a  whoop." 

"  Well,"  said  Howerson,  "  I  must  leave  you  here." 
He  held  out  his  hand.  For  a  moment  or  two  Yal  did  not 


A  NEW  MR.  WATKINS  171 

appear  to  see  it.  He  stood  looking  at  something  far 
away.  "  I  say  I  must  leave  you  here." 

Yal  turned  slowly  and  took  Howerson's  hand,  looked 
into  his  eyes,  breathing  hard  through  the  nose;  and 
walked  off  stumblingly,  without  a  word. 

In  the  anteroom  of  Whateley's  foundry  of  schemes, 
Jim,  the  bouncer,  looked  up  from  a  pink  sporting  sheet, 
dropped  it,  rolled  off  his  chair  and  bowed  in  that 
restraint  which  with  the  powerful  of  muscle  is  nearly 
always  graceful.  Was  Mr.  Whateley  in?  Sure  thing. 
Always  in  to  Mr.  Howerson.  Step  right  in.  Howerson 
stepped  into  the  "  Swage-room,"  as  a  distressed  manu 
facturer  in  iron  had  termed  it.  Whateley  looked  up, 
glanced  at  his  watch,  nodded  toward  a  chair  and  said: 
"  The  machine  will  be  here  in  fifteen  minutes.  Sit 
down. ' ' 

' '  Thank  you.  I  can  leave  for  the  South  this  evening, 
sir." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  a  nod  of  appreciation. 
"  No  need.  Leave  to-morrow  morning.  The  attorney 
for  the  estate,  now  on  his  way  from  Washington  to  New 
Orleans,  will  meet  you  at  the  St.  Charles  at  noon,  day 
after  to-morrow.  He  has  full  power  to  close  with  you, 
and  you  with  him. ' '  He  handed  Howerson  an  envelope. 
"  Your  credentials." 

Miss  Gwin,  stenographer,  came  in  like  a  whisper, 
placed  letters  upon  the  desk  and  escaped  like  a  timid 
sigh.  Old  Calvin  took  them  up,  slowly,  one  by  one.  He 
opened  one,  two,  on  up  to  five,  glancing  at  them  and 
casting  them  aside ;  but  one  of  them  he  read,  smiled  over 
it,  and  put  it  into  his  pocket. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Howerson,  if  you  are  ready,  we'll  go." 

Goggle-eyes,  chauffeur,  was  waiting,  grim  in  the  twi 
light.  Life  was  but  a  twilight  for  this  spurter  through 


172  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

dawns,  noons  and  evenings,  and  devoted  to  his  trade 
regardless  of  the  master  he  served,  his  professional  pride 
was  to  keep  as  obscure  as  possible  the  number  dangling 
at  the  tail  of  his  dragon.  It  seemed  that  Whateley  never 
spoke  to  him  except  under  stress,  regarding  him  as  the 
culminating  evil  of  modern  rush,  different  from  all  other 
beings,  a  link  between  crime  and  necessity. 

The  cold  wind  had  blown  away  the  premature  spring. 
On  a  half  note  the  deceived  robin  had  hushed  his  song, 
and  the  sparrow,  basker  in  hot  dust  or  in  snowdrift, 
twittered  his  revengeful  delight. 

The  old  man  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  Napoleonic 
coat  and  permitted  the  wind  to  blow.  How  many  rags 
that  wind  fluttered  —  rags  of  the  old  man,  deplorable ; 
but  the  rags  of  the  child,  a  crime!  Against  the  North 
Shore  sea  wall,  the  waves  were  booming;  to  the  Poet, 
music,  to  the  Millionaire,  power. 

Whateley  spoke :  ' '  Little  Calvin 's  wolf  coat  came  in 
good  time." 

"  Yes,"  Howerson  was  glad  to  answer,  "  he  said  it 
was  going  to  turn  cold. ' ' 

A  chuckle  came  up  out  of  the  collar  of  the  great  coat. 
' '  He  wanted  an  excuse  for  wearing  it.  Ha !  in  that  lies 
some  of  the  world's  shrewdest  prognostications,  whims 
of  older  children." 

Howerson  would  have  been  pleased  to  speculate  with 
him  on  this  text,  but  still  under  the  restraint  of  feeling 
his  way,  he  said :  "  I'm.  glad  to  see  that  you  have  passed 
on  down  to  him  your  own  rugged  constitution, ' '  and  his 
senses  conveyed  to  his  nerves  the  intelligence  that  he  had 
made  a  hit. 

"Ha,  I  hope  so,  believe  so.  As  rugged  as  a  cub  bear. 
We  may  love  the  weak,  sir,  but  we  love  and  admire  the 
strong.  In  this  we  are  like  Nature  herself,  only  Nature 


A  NEW  ME.  WATKINS  173 

jumps  on  the  weak  without  loving  it,  while  she  exults 
in  the  strong.  As  for  myself,  Mr.  Howerson,  I've  never 
known  a  sick  day,  scarcely  a  day  of  weariness.  And 
why  ?  Not  because  I  stood  originally  in  Nature 's  —  er  — 
favoritism,  but  because  I  was  forced  into  taking  an 
advantage  of  her;  and  she  couldn't  violate  her  own  law 
in  order  to  help  herself.  Early  poverty  is  a  pretty 
shrewd  physician  and  prescribes  a  diet  for  health,  I 
tell  you. 

"  My  wife  used  to  say,  '  Calvin,  you  despise  this  poor 
fellow  because  he  is  weak  physically, '  and  I  used  to  deny 
it,  but  for  the  most  part  she  spoke  the  truth.  Inclined 
to  be  religious,  especially  of  a  Sunday  morning  when 
the  sun  seems  brighter  than  on  other  days,  we  try 
to  apologize  for  the  truth  that  nature  has  hidden  within 
us.  I  am  not  much  on  novels,  haven't  read  many,  and 
largely  for  the  reason  that  as  soon  as  a  man  —  well, 
say  an  Englishman  or  an  American  —  soon  as  he  takes 
up  a  pen  he  begins  to  deplore  naturalness  in  his  brother, 
and  sometimes  halts  his  story  to  —  er  —  apologize  for 
the  fact  that  he  unintentionally  became  interesting.  A 
fellow  with  thin  wrists  and  cuffs  that  rattle  when  you 
shake  hands  with  him,  is  made  to  represent  intellectual 
strength,  and  a  subdued  looking  woman  with  a  class- 
meeting  smirk,  holds  all  the  virtues  of  home.  But  1 
speak  as  a  man  who  is  drawn  into  light  reading  rather 
late  in  life.  I  suppose,  sir,  you  would  regard  Thackeray 
as  a  novelist  of  the  first  class. ' ' 

"  One  of  the  greatest  artists  of  fiction,"  Howerson 
answered. 

"  Ah!  That  is  also  my  daughter's  notion.  I  confess 
to  slim  knowledge  on  such  subjects,  and  it's  rather  a 
queer  time  to  discuss  them,  here  in  this  wind,  but  coming 
out  of  the  office  my  mind  looks  about  for  relief  in  —  I 


174  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

might  say,  experimental  things.  I  get  more  enjoyment 
out  of  Mommsen's  Rome,  but  my  daughter  wanted  me  to 
read  Thackeray,  and  I  did.  Wonderful  observation,  the 
sharp  side,  but  it  strikes  me  that  he  is  unnecessarily 
delayed  on  his  journey.  He  lets  a  score  of  vehicles  pass 
and  then  prefers  to  walk.  Too  slow  for  me.  He  does 
too  much  fine-spun  work  between  what  one  character 
and  another  one  says." 

Howerson  was  encouraged  to  speak  his  mind.  "  Yet 
he  has  a  wonderful  way  of  saying  things  —  ' ' 

The  old  man  interrupted  him  with  a  laugh.  "  True 
—  but  you  and  I,  Mr.  Howerson,  are  more  concerned 
with  their  doing.  Not  but  that  you  seem  to  have  proved 
your  proficiency  in  both  lines." 

"  If  I  have  proved  competent,  it  was  you  who  made 
me  so." 

Whateley  laughed  again.  "  I  think  that  in  you,  Mr. 
Howerson,  I  have  found  a  sort  of  genius. ' ' 

"  Or  rather  a  disease,  Mr.  Whateley,  which  when 
cured,  may  be  found  not  worth  the  trouble.  My  hope 
is  that  the  medicine  may  not  be  expensive,"  and  when 
the  old  man  laughed  again  as  if  pleased  with  his  fight 
against  the  wind,  Howerson  was  silent. 

The  machine  halted  at  the  curb  in  front  of  the  big 
iron  gate.  Goggles  got  out  and  with  a  twist  snatched 
the  door  open,  drooping  to  think  that  he  had  crippled 
no  one  on  the  way.  The  big  gate  clanged  shut.  The 
renegade  Agent  of  Justice  had  entered  the  home 
precincts  of  the  man  whose  nod  meant  elation  or  distress. 
And  how  simple  it  was,  after  all;  and  how  simple  is 
everything  when  you  are  permitted  to  come  up  close  and 
look  into  its  countenance ! 

But  no  reading  man  could  enter  old  Calvin's  library 
and  look  about  him  with  the  eye  of  indifference.  There 


A  NEW  MR.  WATKINS  175 

were  books  not  bound  for  show,  sweet  old  poems  in  night 
caps,  and  striding  tragedies  in  jack  boots.  Beneath 
modest  hoods  reposed  religion,  and  in  confident  calf 
science  stood  secure. 

For  a  time  the  visitor  was  alone,  and  then  a  voice 
called  out:  "  I  hope  you  haven't  forgotten  me,  Mr. 
Howerson." 


CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  OLD  MAN'S  LETTER 

The  Poet  realized  now  that  Rose  Whateley  had  been 
visual  and  spiritual  in  his  mind  during  all  the  hour- 
years  of  his  resurrected  life.  And  as  he  looked  at  her 
he  fancied  that  she  illumined  the  twilight  as  she  came 
into  the  room.  She  held  forth  her  hand,  and  again  he 
felt  her  warm  and  generous  grasp,  and  he  knew  that 
here  was  a  woman  who  could  be  a  friend.  There  was 
none  of  the  meaningless  laughter  of  hypocritical 
courtesy,  none  of  the  graceful  lowering  of  conscious 
dignity,  no  delicate  patronage,  but  the  frankness  of  a 
true  welcome.  She  turned  away  for  a  moment  and 
pressed  a  button  on  the  wall  near  the  door  and  a  chan 
delier  threw  down  its  light  —  in  weak  rivalry  of  her 
own,  was  the  Poet's  thought.  Now  laughing,  not  to 
make  herself  more  agreeable  but  because  she  really  was 
amused,  she  said  that  it  looked  as  if  business  was  pre 
paring  for  a  shady  transaction,  with  the  lights  so  low. 
"  Yes,  I  mean  you,"  she  added,  speaking  to  her  father, 
who  at  this  moment  entered  the  room.  He  put  his  arm 
about  her,  kissed  her,  laughing  as  tenderly  and  with 
as  simple  a  resignation  under  gentle  rebuke  as  if 
he  were  old  Dr.  Primrose  himself.  Not  alone  his  voice 
but  his  countenance  bore  out  this  resemblance,  for  the 
mask  of  tragedy  had  been  left  at  his  office,  and  his  eyes 
were  not  the  eyes  that  looked  down  in  worry  at  the 
letters  on  his  desk.  Sometimes  care  rode  his  broad 
shoulders  home,  into  the  hallway,  the  library,  to  be 

176 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  LETTER  177 

shaken  off  only  at  the  Cabin  door,  but  this  was  not  one 
of  the  times.  She  saw  that  something  had  pleased  him, 
something  other  than  material  things,  and  she  asked  him 
what  it  was,  hanging  persuasively  on  his  arm;  and  she 
knew  that  he  would  withhold  the  telling  of  it,  for  he 
always  delayed  the  naming  of  his  cause  for  pleasant 
reflection,  to  tease  her. 

How  much  she  looked  like  him  as  she  stood  so  near  him ; 
his  conquering  eyes  were  her  own,  had  they  been  softer, 
and  her  mouth  his,  if  harder  with  fight  and  determina 
tion.  With  her  strength,  her  fearlessness  and  her  evi 
dent  persistency  in  the  achievement  of  an  aim,  she  would 
have  been  a  troublesome  suffragette  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Asquith's  house.  In  her  own  country  she  had  been 
urged  to  lend  ' '  her  great  personality ' '  to  the  cause.  Her 
brother  declared  that  she  encouraged  these  solicitations 
for  the  humor  she  got  out  of  them,  and  she  was  greatly 
amused ;  and  when  some  attenuated  spinster  had  endan 
gered  her  robin  ankles  by  walking  away,  she  would 
convulse  old  Paul  and  little  Calvin  with  her  mimicry  of 
those  petticoated  Websters.  But  to  her  father  she  often 
said,  "  They  are  going  to  conquer,  just  as  the  Aboli 
tionists  conquered,  by  intelligence  and  persistency." 

"  Come  now,"  she  said  to  old  Calvin,  still  hang 
ing  on  his  arm,  ' '  you  must  tell  me. ' ' 

"  Tell  you  what,  my  dear?  " 

' '  You  know.  What  has  brought  you  such  good  humor, 
that's  what." 

"  Ha,  always  in  good  humor,"  the  old  man  laughed. 
"  Nobody  ever  saw  me  out  of  humor." 

' '  Then  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Howerson, ' '  and  this  appeal, 
this  persuasive  melody,  tingled  the  Poet's  blood. 

"  I  don't  know,  Miss  Whateley,  unless  it  was  brought 
about  by  a  letter  I  saw  him  smiling  over  in  the  office." 


178  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Old  Calvin,  instead  of  being  displeased  with  so  close 
an  observation  of  him  as  he  had  sat  at  his  desk,  laughed 
louder  than  ever.  "  Yes,  a  letter,"  he  owned.  "  Won 
derful  news  —  for  me. ' ' 

"  Give  it  to  me  this  instant,  sir.  How  dare  you  have 
any  secrets  from  me!  Give  it  to  me,  I  say!  "  He  pre 
tended  to  pull  hard  away  from  her.  At  this  moment 
old  Paul  announced :  ' '  The  Rev.  Dr.  Henshaw. ' ' 

The  doctor  entered.  He  happened  to  be  passing  he 
said,  and  trusted  that  his  —  ah  —  dropping  in  was  no 
intrusion.  None  at  all,  he  was  assured,  for  Whateley 
gave  him  a  cordial  hand,  and  Rose  gave  him  the  regula 
tion  smile  of  the  church,  such  as  follows  the  presentation 
of  a  pair  of  homemade  slippers ;  and  for  a  moment  she 
warmed  his  cool  hand  with  her  own.  How  glad  he  was 
to  meet  Howerson,  when  told  that  the  Poet  was  con 
nected  with  Whateley 's  great  establishment.  He  reached 
for  Howerson 's  hand  the  second  time  when  fully  he  had 
realized  the  importance  of  the  information.  The  name 
seemed  familiar  to  him,  old  family  undoubtedly.  He 
had  known  a  Dr.  Howerton,  of  Dartmouth,  most  schol 
arly  man. 

"  Hower  —  son,  and  not  Hower  —  ton,"  said  Rose, 
sharing  sly  merriment  with  the  Poet. 

"  Oh,  I  see;  very  old  Virginia  name.  Delighted  to 
meet  you,  sir,  I  am  sure.  I  have  —  er  —  " 

Here  dinner  was  called  and  the  doctor  wheeled  about 
to  Whateley  with  an  apology  for  his  thoughtlessness  in 
stopping  at  such  an  hour.  At  heart  old  Calvin  had  no 
more  ceremony  than  had  been  practiced  in  his  father's 
home,  and  he  put  his  hand  on  the  doctor's  shoulder. 
' '  Come  and  eat  a  bite  with  us.  We  're  glad  to  have  you, 
and  I  am  especially  so  on  this  occasion.  That  letter, 
Rose.  Ha!" 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  LETTER  179 

Sometimes  out  of  a  determination  not  to  be  astonished, 
we  hurt  our  sense  of  just  appreciation ;  and  after  leaving 
this  house  the  Poet  had  but  a  vague  impression  of  some 
of  its  ancient  art  treasures,  the  bronzes  and  marbles  in 
the  great  hallway,  the  paintings  inviting  the  mind  to 
good  cheer,  the  subdued  splendor  of  the  dining  room. 
An  erratic  architect,  an  Italian,  had  in  this  room  repro 
duced  some  old  memory  or  indulged  a  free  fancy  of  his 
own,  no  one  knew  which.  His  "  flight,"  as  an  American 
rival  termed  it,  was  admired  intrinsically  by  the  average 
critic  until  some  one  wealthy  enough  and  traveled 
enough  to  have  weight  declared  it  a  "  Cloister  illumin 
ated,"  and  this,  of  course,  brought  about  a  division  of 
opinion. 

In  the  dining  room  the  Poet  was  presented  to  Dan 
Whateley  and  to  Harriet,  his  wife,  of  note  as  the  mother 
of  little  Calvin.  The  lawyer  said  that  he  was  pleased 
to  meet  Howerson,  not  suspecting  that  he  was  a  poet; 
and  Harriet,  believing  that  aestheticism  was  a  nervous 
synonym  for  physical  weakness,  surveying  with  quiver 
ing  eye  the  size  and  evident  strength  of  the  visitor, 
breathed  inwardly  a  hope  that  she  might  not  regret  the 
meeting.  The  quality  of  physical  power  was  a  virtue  to 
the  son,  a  vulgarity  to  the  mother;  but  how  fondly  she 
looked  upon  the  Reverend  Doctor  Henshaw!  He  made 
music  of  her  prated  ills,  listened  to  her  nerves  and  was 
charmed  with  the  faint  beating  of  her  heart. 

When  they  all  of  them  were  seated,  talking  while 
thinking  of  something  to  say,  the  boy  bounded  into  the 
room,  still  coated  in  the  hide  of  the  wolf.  It  had  been 
said  that  were  the  old  man  to  dine  the  country's  chief 
executive,  together  with  his  cabinet  and  the  decorated 
plenipotentiaries  of  all  nations,  little  Calvin  would  find 
a  place  at  the  board.  He  shouted  a  welcome  to  Hower- 


180  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

son,  and  with  a  leap  and  a  laugh,  bounded  upon  his 
chair  next  his  grandfather,  at  the  head  of  the  table.  His 
mother  had  been  rapt  in  attention  upon  the  doctor,  who 
was  telling  her  of  the  distress  he  had  been  put  to  by 
eating  a  sausage  in  Antwerp,  and  did  not  for  a  moment 
realize  the  youngster's  garb,  but  when  she  gathered 
fully,  she  cried  out : 

"  Calvin,  take  off  that  hor —   that  hot  coat." 

Hot  was  substituted  for  horrid  out  of  respect  for  How- 
erson,  to  whom  she  now  turned  with  a  smile  somewhat 
niggard  of  illumination.  But  to  the  boy  she  repeated 
her  demand,  while  the  old  man  winked  at  Rose  and  How- 
erson  and  chuckled. 

"  Must  I  take  it  off,  grandpa?  "  the  boy  appealed. 

"  Yes,"  said  old  Calvin,  "  better  take  it  off.  Don't 
you  think  so,  Mr.  Howerson  ?  ' ' 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  Poet.  "  Why,  yes!  Old  Dick 
Bluke,  the  hunter,  always  took  off  his  wolf  coat  when  he 
sat  down  to  eat." 

By  this  time  the  boy's  coat  was  off,  but  he  hung  it  on 
the  back  of  his  chair;  and  now,  all  threat  of  a  family 
row  having  passed,  the  doctor  looked  down  into  his  soup 
and  remembered  that  he  had  not  been  called  on  to  ask 
a  blessing.  But  Whateley  was  perhaps  pardonable,  he 
mused.  The  spoiled  and  impudent  youngster  who  ought 
to  be  spanked  and  sent  away,  was  the  cause.  Harriet  was 
speaking  to  him  and  the  good  man  gave  her  his  smiling 
attention.  She  was  talking  about  Art  in  the  Vatican. 
After  beholding  it  in  silent  wonder  one  must  feel  that 
all  the  ages  had  been  robbed.  Compared  with  it,  think 
of  the  poverty  of  England,  of  Germany  and  of  even 
France  herself;  and  as  for  poor  America,  a  pauper 
indeed ! 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  LETTER  181 

Over  America  the  doctor  sighed.  "  Ah,  in  this 
country,  my  dear  Mrs.  Whateley,  we  have  no  autoch 
thonous  art." 

"  I  hope  not,"  Rose  laughed. 

Howerson  caught  her  fun-loving  eye,  the  old  man 
chuckled,  Dan  haw-hawed,  and  the  impudent  boy  cried 
out,  "  Got  his  goat,  didn't  she,  grandpa?  " 

Wealth  does  not  change  human  nature.  There  is  more 
of  laughter  in  a  palace  than  in  a  hovel,  and  mischief 
may  be  rude  anywhere.  Whateley 's  face  grew  red  with 
the  mirth-blood  that  flew  to  his  countenance,  and  slyly 
with  a  napkin  Howerson  dammed  up  his  own  laughter. 
Harriet  sat  back  with  a  gasp,  and  Rose  turned  to  the 
doctor  with  eyes  beseeching  his  pardon,  and  said: 

"  We  are  all  the  subjects  of  a  spoiled  little  prince, 
Doctor." 

Henshaw  smiled  upward,  ah-hahed  and  replied: 
' '  Dear,  very  dear  little  fellow,  light  of  a  devoted  house 
hold."  But  his  heart  said,  "  Pity  I  couldn't  have  lived 
in  Scotland  two  hundred  years  ago  and  had  him  and  the 
rest  of  you  beneath  my  wing,  the  little  ruffian."  Then 
aloud,  "  Charming  innocence,  gamboling  on  life's 
doorstep. ' ' 

"  Calvin,"  said  the  old  man,  "  behave  yourself." 

And  his  mother:  "  Father,  he  constantly  humiliates 
us  all  with  his  alley  and  back-lot  expressions,  and  it  is 
high  time  to  take  him  in  hand.  Please  don't  blame  me, 
Dr.  Henshaw.  He  is  quite  beyond  my  control,  I  assure 
you.  The  other  day  when  we  were  getting  him  ready 
for  Sunday  school  he  cried  out  that  only  '  rummies  '  went 
to  such  places.  I  ought  not  to  repeat  it,  but  his  grand 
father  —  you  know  it,  Rose,  just  as  well  as  I  do  —  seems 
to  take  delight  in  it.  And  as  for  his  father  —  ' '  the 


182  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

mother  sighed,  and  her  husband,  disturbed  in  his  medita 
tions  as  one  might  be  by  the  stopping  of  a  clock,  looked 
up  and  inquired: 

11  What  is  it,  dear?  " 

"  I  say  you  do  nothing  to  restrain  Calvin." 

' '  Don 't  worry  about  little  Calvin, ' '  the  old  man  spoke 
up.  "  If  there's  a  boy  that's  coming  out  all  right,  he 
is  the  chap.  Eh,  my  son  ?  ' : 

' '  You  bet  —  I  mean  yes,  sir. ' ' 

"  Ah,  please  note  the  improvement  already,  my  dear 
Harriet,"  the  head  of  the  house  requested  her,  and  she 
noted  it  with  a  dim  smile  and  a  sad  shake  of  the  head. 

"  I  suppose  every  mother  is  anxious  for  her  son,  if  I 
may  be  permitted  to  speak,"  said  the  Poet.  "  On  most 
household  subjects  I  am  ignorant,  but  I  know  something 
about  boys;  and  I  claim  the  freedom  to  say,  not  only 
here  but  everywhere,  that  I  am  more  indebted  to  this 
little  fellow  than  to  all  the  rest  of  mankind  living  to-day. 
It  was  his  faith  in  me  —  " 

"  Why,  you  astonish  me,"  Harriet  put  in,  not  over- 
pleased  at  the  acknowledgment. 

Howerson  bowed  to  her.    ' '  It  astonishes  me,  madam. ' ' 

"  You  give  me  a  coat  that  a  wolf  used  to  gallop 
about  in  and  howl  when  the  night  was  dark ;  and  a  boy 
that  tried  to  take  it  away  from  me  would  get  beaned, 
wouldn't  he,  Mr.  Howerson?  "  appealed  Calvin,  putting 
his  hand  back  upon  the  bristles  of  the  wolf. 

"He'd  have  to  fight,  I  tell  you,"  said  the  Poet. 

The  old  man  was  immensely  pleased  and  upon  Hower 
son  he  looked  with  a  kindly  eye;  and  Dan  came  out  of 
one  of  his  legal  abstractions  to  thank  the  visitor  for  the 
interest  he  felt  for  "  my  great  little  cub,"  he  said,  and 
added:  "  Ah,  and,  Mr.  Howerson,  father  tells  us  that 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  LETTER  183 

you  accomplished  wonders  out  at  Glenwich.  You  must 
have  had  good  business  training." 

Here  the  doctor  saved  Howerson  the  embarrassment 
of  confessing  that  he  had  received  no  business  training, 
that  with  him  it  was  all  lucky  blundering.  That  wise  and 
experienced  man  spoke  up  with  the  declaration  that  to 
achieve  —  ah  —  in  no  matter  what  line,  we  must  have 
been  trained.  Even  piety  itself  required  early  training. 

"  Even  then  we  don't  always  make  a  success  of 
it, ' '  old  Calvin  declared.  ' '  But  sometimes,  to  our  great 
surprise,  we  succeed  in  something  that  we  haven't  been 
trained  for.  And  now,  Rose,  this  leads  back  to  the  sub 
ject  of  why  I  seemed  pleased. 

"  About  six  months  ago,  over  in  Michigan,  I  was 
invited  by  a  committee  of  inspection  to  go  out  to  an 
asylum  for  the  insane.  I  don't  take  much  pleasure  in 
going  to  such  places  and  I  would  have  passed  it  up  but 
for  the  fact  that  the  chairman  of  the  committee  took 
such  pride  in  the  place  —  ahem  —  together  with  a  busi 
ness  scheme  I  had  on  hand  with  him.  So  I  went  along. 
Lunch  was  served  in  a  long  hall  and  speeches  were  made 
complimentary  to  the  institution  and  the  board  of  man 
agement,  and  then  the  inspection  began.  I  can  stand  a 
great  deal  of  hard  work  and  exposure  but  I  can't  stand 
having  things  explained  to  me,  with  the  understanding 
that  praise  is  to  follow;  so  I  got  away  from  the  others 
and  started  out  on  an  investigation  of  my  own.  Out  on 
the  lawn  beneath  a  tree  sat  a  most  distinguished-looking 
oldish  man,  with  gold-rimmed  glasses  and  a  dignity 
assorted  to  fit.  I  would  have  passed  on,  leaving  him  free 
to  pursue  his  communion  with  —  ' ' 

"  Exactly,"  said  Henshaw.    "  Exactly,  sir." 

"  With  nature,"  continued  Whateley,  "  but  he  got 


184  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

up,  bowed  and  invited  me  to  sit  down.  I  did  so  and  at 
once  he  entered  upon  easy  conversation,  enjoyable  to  me, 
I  assure  you;  and  I  soon  found  that  he  was  a  man  of 
remarkable  information.  Not  only  this,  but  he  was 
evidently  a  scholar,  so  much  so  that  I  reached  out,  in 
defense  of  my  own  —  er  —  vanity,  and  drew  him  into 
my  own  territory,  but  even  here  he  was  equally  at  home, 
so,  for  the  most  part  I  sat  back  and  let  him  talk.  In 
plain  words  he  didn't  tell  me  he  was  a  philanthropist, 
but  from  his  tone  I  gathered  that  he  had  donated  the 
land  for  the  asylum.  His  polished  observations  were  so 
shrewd  that  I  thought  he  might  be  a  member  of  the 
United  States  Senate;  he  shifted  to  theology  and  I  felt 
that  he  must  adorn  some  fashionable  pulpit ;  he  got  down 
to  farming,  down  into  the  subsoil,  and  I  could  fancy  him 
stepping  out  of  the  furrow  into  the  Agricultural  Depart 
ment  of  a  State  University. 

"  He  was,  I  thought,  about  the  best  balanced  man  1 
had  ever  met,  and  when  after  a  time  he  told  me  his 
name  I  was  somewhat  astonished  that  I  had  never  heard 
of  him;  and  upon  introducing  myself,  I  was  a  little 
nipped  to  see  that  my  name  was  unknown  to  him.  Well, 
he  talked  about  nearly  everything  within  my  range,  and 
getting  up  to  rejoin  the  committee  I  shook  hands  with 
him.  He  impressed  me  so  deeply  that  I  spoke  to  the 
chairman  of  the  committee,  and  the  superintendent  of 
the  asylum,  standing  near,  answered  my  question. 

"  '  Oh,  old  Jacob  Lusk.  Yes,  very  interesting  man. 
He's  been  here  ten  years.'  '  You  mean  in  this  neigh 
borhood?  '  said  I,  and  he  smiled  and  replied:  '  In  this 
institution.'  '  What,'  I  cried,  '  you  don't  mean  that  he 
is  an  inmate !  '  And  he  answered, '  Not  only  that,  but  an 
incurable. '  So,  like  nearly  every  person  who  visits  such 
places,  I  had  been  duped.  '  I  don't  think  I  ever  talked 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  LETTER  185 

to  a  more  intelligent  man, '  I  said  to  the  superintendent, 
and  he  replied,  '  Yes,  on  all  subjects  but  one.  You 
didn't  happen  to  speak  of  the  world,  did  you?  '  '  No,  I 
believe  not.'  '  Well,  if  you  had  you  would  have  come 
away  with  a  different  opinion.' 

"  Now  my  curiosity  was  aroused  sure  enough.  So 
while  the  committee  was  busy  inspecting  the  water 
supply,  I  slipped  back  to  the  tree  where  on  the  bench 
still  sat  Jacob  Lusk.  He  smiled  pleasantly  and  motioned 
rue  to  sit  down.  I  did  so,  and  began  to  talk  about  the 
swiftness  of  life  as  compared  with  years  ago,  and  quietly 
he  nodded  his  agreement  to  all  I  said;  but  when  I 
remarked,  '  This  is  a  queer  old  world,'  he  jumped  to 
his  feet. 

"'This  world!'  he  exclaimed;  'yes,  I  made  it, 
created  it.  Let  me  tell  you:  Millions  of  ages  ago,  I 
stood  with  one  foot  in  a  mist  and  the  other  foot  in  the 
black  bosom  of  nothing,  infinite  space  between  them. 
Suddenly  I  found  between  the  thumb  and  index  finger 
of  my  right  hand  a  grain  of  sand.  For  millions  and 
millions  of  years  I  had  stood  there,  and  never  before  had 
I  felt  that  grain  of  sand.  It  was  interesting,  this  speck 
of  substance  in  a  universe  of  nothing,  and  I  began  to 
roll  it  about  as  you  have  seen  men  roll  a  bread  pill  after 
dinner.  Suddenly  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  it  was 
growing  larger  and  larger  —  large  as  a  hazelnut,  a  ball, 
orange,  cocoanut  —  gods,  a  barrel !  But  now  I  was  whirl 
ing  it  over  and  over,  with  both  hands.  Soon  it  was  as 
big  as  a  house,  and  instead  of  my  whirling  it,  it  began  to 
whirl  me.  All  this  time  it  was  getting  bigger  and  bigger, 
till  at  length  I  could  walk  upon  it ;  and  gradually  I  lost 
the  sense  of  its  swift  motion.  And,  what  was  this!  I 
was  getting  smaller  and  smaller,  and  what  had  been 
centuries,  now  become  as  minutes.  I  saw  this  great  ball 


186  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

crack  and  an  ocean  of  water  surge  into  the  crevice;  I 
felt  a  mighty  shudder,  and  mountains  rose  up.  Then 
came  trees,  grass,  the  earth  as  it  is  now.  And  here  I 
stand,  its  creator,  without  credit  for  the  mighty  work  — 
its  creator  who  made  it  out  of  nothing !  ' 

"  '  No,  not  out  of  nothing,'  I  said,  humoring  him, 
'  but  out  of  a  grain  of  sand.  And  let  me  ask  you :  "Where 
did  you  get  that  grain  of  sand  ?  Who  made  it  ?  ' 

"  He  looked  at  me  —  I  never  before  saw  such  an 
expression  of  countenance  —  looked  at  me  and  turning, 
ran  away,  shouting:  '  Who  made  the  grain  of  sand  — 
where  did  I  get  it!  God,  where  did  I  get  the  grain  of 
sand!  ' 

"  And  now,"  continued  old  Calvin,  "  I  get  this  letter 
from  the  superintendent  of  the  asylum."  Then,  taking 
the  letter  from  his  pocket  he  read : 

"  '  My  Dear  Mr.  Whateley:  I  suppose  you  remember 
Jacob  Lusk  who  thought  he  made  the  earth,  and  I  know 
that  it  would  be  pretty  hard  for  me  to  forget  the  expres 
sion  of  his  countenance  as  he  came  running  past  me, 
crying  out,  '  Where  did  I  get  that  grain  of  sand !  '  You 
told  me  that  you  just  happened  to  ask  him  the  question ; 
but  do  you  know  what  so  simple  a  thing  as  the  asking  of 
that  question  did  ?  It  set  him  to  thinking,  took  his  mind 
off  himself  and  set  it  to  speculating  as  to  who  made  the 
grain  of  sand,  started  the  flow  of  stagnant  blood,  as  it 
were,  and  now  he  is  completely  cured,  as  sane  a  man  as 
you  ever  saw.  He  has  returned  to  his  home  near  Detroit, 
and  has  again  taken  up  the  work  that  fell  out  of  his 
hands  so  many  years  ago,  that  of  librarian.  He  cannot 
recall  who  asked  him  the  question,  and  importuned  me 
to  tell  him,  but  knowing  that  you  did  not  care  to  bother 
with  the  matter,  I  withheld  it.  I  write  this  only  to  empha- 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  LETTER  187 

size  an  old  truth  —  how  wonderful  may  be  the  ultimate 
result  of  a  simple  cause. ' 

"  Bother  with  it?  "  commented  Whateley  before  any 
one  had  found  aught  to  say.  "  Why  it  is  a  delight  to 
me  to  think  of  it ;  and  I  am  going  to  send  that  old  gentle 
man  a  check. ' ' 

Rose  cried  out  that  he  was  the  dearest  and  kindest 
hearted  of  all  men,  so  little  she  knew  that  Miss  Gwin's 
mother  was  weeping  because  the  tender-hearted  man  was 
fighting  the  verdict  awarding  her  five  thousand  dollars 
for  the  slaughter  of  her  husband.  Dan  paid  but  little 
heed,  no  question  of  law  or  politics  arising ;  but  Hower- 
son  was  aroused,  showed  it  in  his  countenance,  in  his 
voice  when  he  spoke:  "  A  soul  poem,"  he  said;  "  an 
inspiration  to  revoke  the  order  of  tragedy,  for  what  is 
more  tragic  than  a  mind  struggling  to  shift  the  weight 
of  a  darkening  blight !  Science  is  getting  at  the  machine, 
man ;  but  how  far  we  are  yet  from  an  understanding  of 
man,  the  mind  —  a  creating  creation,  experimenting 
universe,  banished  by  self  worry,  poisoned  like  the  snake 
that  bites  itself,  and  cured  with  a  spiritual  balm,  a 
word." 

"  I  pass,"  said  Dan. 

Dr.  Henshaw  did  not  quite  gather  —  ahem  —  fully  the 
meaning  of  Mr.  Howerson.  Evidently,  however,  he  made 
a  great  mystery  of  the  mind,  and  well  enough,  it  was 
true.  "  But  man  was  created  in  the  image  of  his  Make? 
and  therefore  —  er  —  his  mind,  with  all  of  its  mystery,  :3 
explained.  But  your  experience  was  quite  remarkable, 
Mr.  Whateley  —  very  remarkable,  I  assure  you.  I  have 
had  to  deal  with  cases,  well,  not  wholly  but  almost  sim 
ilar.  It  is  not  the  —  I  might  say  —  not  the  province  of 
science  to  reach  the  mind ;  that  blessed  mission  is  reserved 


188  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

for  religion.  Oh,  no,  I  have  eaten  sufficiently,  thank  you. 
I  find  that  as  we  grow  older  we  ought  to  eat  less,  an 
example  set  by  Louis  —  Canario,  was  it  ?  Famous 
Italian  who  ate  oftener  and  less  as  he  grew  older,  and 
in  consequence  lived  to  be  a  hundred  and  three,  writing 
at  ninety-five  an  essay  that  found  favor  with  Montaigne. 
But  as  I  was  going  to  say —  " 

"  Beg  your  pardon,"  Rose  in  mischief  interposed, 
' '  but  was  it  science  or  religion  that  enabled  him  to  write 
essays  at  ninety-five?  Didn't  you  say  something  about 
his  diet?  " 

"  Ah,  possibly  —  assuredly.  But  it  was  the  religious 
health  of  his  mind  that  prompted  him  to  —  er  —  devise 
a  salutary  diet.  Now  then,  as  to  the  interesting  case  just 
related  by  you,  my  dear  Mr.  Whateley !  Your  question 
concerning  the  grain  of  sand  was  not  idly  casual  on  your 
part,  but  was  a  true  psychologic  incentive." 

11  I  pass,"  said  Dan,  and  his  wife  looked  at  him  with 
rebuke  in  her  eyes.  Her  nurtured  anemia  loved  the  talk 
that  savored  of  books,  and  nothing  could  be  more 
unsorted  than  her  husband's  criminal  docket  attempt 
at  humor;  so  she  looked  at  him  but  caught  not  his 
experienced  eye.  Then,  upon  Howerson,  she  bestowed 
the  grace  of  a  rare  smile.  She  had  scented  mystery  in 
what  he  had  tried  to  say,  and  from  this  time  forward  was 
likely  to  be  more  or  less  interested  in  him.  He  was  not 
so  vulgar  as  his  size  had  declared.  Howerson  felt  that 
he  had  cracked  her  thin  ice,  for  he  addressed  a  remark 
to  her  and  was  rewarded  with  a  gracious  answer.  Rose, 
who  had  missed  nothing  of  this  peace  treaty,  looked  on 
with  favor ;  and  the  old  man,  catching  the  spirit  of  Har 
riet's  surrender,  no  doubt  credited  his  new  assistant  with 
an  achievement  superior  to  his  Glenwich  conquest.  Dur 
ing  all  this  time  the  boy  had  kept  quiet,  but  now  he 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  LETTER  189 

wanted  to  know  all  about  the  grain  of  sand  in  the  funny 
old  man's  eye. 

"  Dear  inquiring  little  fellow,"  said  the  doctor, 
' '  catching  at  the  dripping  cup  of  truth !  It  was  not  in 
his  eye  —  er,  what  is  his  name  ?  Ah,  Calvin.  Not  in  his 
eye,  Calvin,  but  between  his  fingers  —  so!  "  The  wise 
man  caught  up  a  crumb  of  bread  and  between  thumb 
and  finger  pilled  it  in  illustration. 

"  But  it  didn't  hurt  him,  did  it?  "  Calvin  persisted. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  not  at  all." 

"Then  what  made  him  run  away,  crying?  " 

"  My  dear  Doctor,"  said  Harriet,  "  please  don't  pay 
any  attention  to  him." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes;  it  is  a  pleasure  I  assure  you.  He 
didn't  know  where  the  sand  came  from,  my  little  man; 
he—" 

' '  Got  it  out  of  his  shoe, ' '  cried  the  boy,  dismissing  the 
doctor  and  turning  to  Howerson,  his  hero;  and  the 
doctor  was  glad  enough  to  escape. 

Then  followed  the  congenial  talk  of  better  acquaint 
ance.  Rose,  Harriet  and  Howerson  talked  —  not  of  the 
theatre  but  of  great  drama,  which  neither  of  them  would 
have  gone  to  see,  and  they  wondered  why  there  were  no 
real  plays  now,  such  as  illumined  a  ruder  age.  Hower 
son  knew  why,  but  did  not  explain.  His  experience 
taught  him  that  the  public  had  conspired  to  head  off 
actors  who  bore  the  dangerous  threat  of  future  greatness. 

At  a  length  to  him  most  charming,  Miss  Whateley  dwelt 
upon  their  meeting  in  her  father 's  office,  their  talk  on  the 
effect  of  clothes.  With  little  Calvin  keen  to  do  him 
honor,  and  knowing  that  the  old  man  looked  on  him  in 
faith,  Howerson  had  been  proud  but  for  the  secret  rat 
gnawing  at  his  heart.  Sometimes  it  would  run  away 
as  if  frightened,  only  to  return,  to  listen  and  to  gnaw. 


190  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Sometimes  he  fancied  that  he  could  hear  it,  felt  that 
when  someone  laughed  it  was  still  for  a  moment,  scared, 
but  quickly  returned  to  its  work.  "  One  of  these  days 
I  must  open  my  bosom  and  let  it  out,"  he  mused. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
THE   AMUSING  FOLLIES   OF  LIFE 

Henshaw  said  that  as  the  gentlemen  doubtless  were 
going  to  withdraw  themselves  to  the  library  to  smoke, 
he  would  —  ah  —  virtue  himself  with  the  society  of  the 
ladies.  The  gentlemen  raised  no  protest,  granting  to 
the  church  its  inherited  privilege  of  avoiding  men  on 
account  of  the  things  that  men  do.  But  Rose  demurred 
with  a  laugh.  "  Not  against  your  flattering  preference, 
Doctor, ' '  she  said, ' '  but  because  we  rebel  against  banish 
ment.  ' ' 

The  doctor  said  that  he  was  pleased  to  know  that  the 
ladies  were  —  ah  —  so  indulgent  as  to  put  up  with 
tobacco  smoke.  It  was  great  liberality,  he  was  sure. 
Such  was  the  charm  of  woman,  her  patience  and  her 
ultimate  power  for  good.  Before  his  dear  wife  had 
passed  on  to  her  reward,  had  he  smoked,  she  would  have 
lighted  his  pipe  for  him.  "  Of  course  such  a  question 
never  arose,  my  dear  Miss  Whateley  —  surely  not ;  but 
I  am  certain  she  would,  for  her  life  was  one  continuous 
sacrifice.  But  she  had  to  go ;  and  I  was  not  with  her  to 
soothe  her  last  moments,  being  abroad  at  the  time  on  my 
first  European  tour.  Ahem." 

Old  Calvin  winked  at  his  daughter.  He  had  crushed 
the  commercial  life  out  of  men,  had  made  the  coun 
tenance  of  a  rival  corporation  grin  in  yellow  agony,  but 
he  could  not  make  harmony  of  the  preacher's  religion 
and  his  selfishness.  In  the  library  he  brought  forth  a 
box  of  cigars  such  as  toughened  students  burn  to  smoke 

191 


192  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

out  a  mamma  pet,  fresh  veal  from  the  pasture.  He  knew 
that  Rose  was  proof  against  their  strength;  she  had 
lighted  them  for  him;  knew  that  Dan  had  cured  Har 
riet  like  a  ham.  The  doctor  avowed  that  a  good  cigar 
did  not  distress  him.  He  had  known  a  bishop  of  the 
Church  of  England  who  smoked  while  composing  his 
sermons;  and  Whateley  declaring  that  he  was  glad  to 
know  it,  emitted  smoke  like  a  tar  kiln  of  his  native 
commonwealth.  The  doctor  coughed  and  Rose  raised  a 
window. 

Old  Calvin  grew  genial,  talked  about  the  amusing 
follies  of  life.  On  the  subject  of  distresses  he  could 
have  given  expert  testimony.  Henshaw,  having  chame- 
leoned  his  color  from  society,  reflected  no  hue  with  which 
Whateley  was  familiar.  The  experiences  of  the 
preacher  were  not  interesting  to  the  man  of  the  world, 
but  every  phase  of  Whateley 's  life  held  interest  for  the 
preacher:  Whateley  could  build  churches.  Dan  smoked 
with  his  eyes  half  shut,  dreaming  of  political  leader 
ship.  When  he  was  too  sluggish  to  think,  he  dreamed. 
His  mind  was  not  vivid  enough  to  project  a  vision.  The 
boy  sat  on  Howerson's  knee  and  was  quiet.  His  mind 
was  a  cinematograph  of  pictures.  Old  Whateley  still 
saw  visions  and  the  soul  of  them  was  little  Calvin.  The 
poet's  conquest  of  this  boy  meant  much.  The  preacher 
was  shrewd  enough  to  see  it,  and  warmed  toward  Hower- 
son. 

"  It  is,  I  might  say,  a  little  singular  that  I  have  not 
met  you  before  this,  Mr.  Howerson,"  he  said.  "  But 
I  suppose  you  are  a  very  busy  man ;  assuredly  so. ' ' 

"  Well,  of  late  I  have  been  rather  active." 

"  He  can  jump  fu'ther  than  you  can,"  cried  the  boy. 

"•  Ah,  I  shouldn't  wonder,  my  dear  little  man.  My 
jumping  days  are  over.  I  should  be  much  pleased  to 


THE  AMUSING  FOLLIES  OF  LIFE         190 

see  you  at  my  church,  Mr.  Howerson.  Miss  Whateley, 
who  is  kind  enough  to  take  an  interest  in  our  affairs, 
would  no  doubt  show  you  the  way.  Next  Sunday  I  am 
to  preach  on  '  The  Modern  Jew  in  Business. '  : 

Howerson  said  that  it  would  be  pretty  hard  to  find  the 
modern  Jew  not  in  business.  He  was  waiting  for  Rose 's 
offer  to  show  him  the  way  to  the  church  door,  and  with 
a  kindly  smile  the  offer  came.  Howerson  thanked  her 
and  then  turned  to  Dr.  Henshaw.  "  I  should  like  to 
hear  your  sermon  on  a  subject  so  interesting,  but  I  shall 
leave  the  city  early  to-morrow  morning. ' ' 

' '  Ah,  too  bad, ' '  said  the  doctor.  ' '  May  I  expect  you, 
my  very  dear  Mr.  Whateley?  " 

The  old  man  did  not  knock  the  leaves  off  the  bush 
with  beating  about  it.  "  Hardly.  The  fact  is  I  know 
too  much  of  the  modern  Jew  in  business  already.  I 
have  met  the  gentleman ;  and  I  have  had  to  set  the  alarm 
clock  in  order  to  get  there  first.  Ha,  but  when  you  find 
out  anything  new  about  religion  or  even  the  church,  let 
me  know  and  I'll  be  there." 

"  My  very  dear  Mr.  Whateley,"  said  the  doctor,  "  all 
truths  are  as  old  as  the  universe,  as  the  grain  of  sand 
that  the  crazy  man  found  between  his  fingers.  But  we 
come  upon  new  applications,  and  out  of  them  come  prog 
ress  and  reformation.  Ah,  thank  you."  This  was 
addressed  to  Harriet  who  had  raised  the  window  higher. 
She  said  that  the  smoke  was  thick  enough  to  cut,  and  old 
Calvin  cut  it  with  a  gesture  to  remark : 

"  All  of  which  is  true,  Doctor.  Don't  mistake  me  for 
a  critic.  When  a  man  appears  to  know  his  own  game, 
and  he  ought  to,  I  acknowledge  it ;  I  don 't  play  against 
him.  I  don't  care  what  a  man  thinks  on  subjects  that 
are  beyond  me.  I  grant  him  full  scope  and  tell  him  to 
make  the  best  of  it.  It's  what  a  man  does  that  stirs  up 


194  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

my  interest.  Somebody  said  that  a  man  can't  violate 
his  nature,  no  matter  what  he  says  that  he  thinks,  and 
in  the  main  —  ' ' 

11  You  mean  '  for  the  most  part,'  '  Rose  laughed, 
harping  on  one  of  his  accustomed  expressions. 

He  nodded.  ' '  And  for  the  most  part  this  may  be  true, 
but  a  man  is  often  stimulated  by  a  sudden  whim  to  act 
in  a  manner  contrary  to  his  recognized  nature,  do  some 
thing  in  a  second  and  regret  it  all  his  life." 

The  doctor  smiled.  On  his  part  a  smile  was  set  up 
as  evidence  that  he  was  not  quite  astonished  but  was 
prepared  to  be  at  any  moment.  "  Very,  very  true,  Mr. 
Whateley,  but  is  it  not  consistent  with  —  ah  —  certain 
natures  to  be  given  over  to  sudden  whims  ?  Society  — 

"  Society  is  something  I  know  but  little  about," 
Whateley  cut  in  Math  his  sickle,  accepting  the  word  in 
its  narrowest  meaning.  "  I  know  what  it  is  for  a  man 
to  stand  in  his  reception  room  and  smile  into  coun 
tenances  he  has  a  contempt  for,  to  smile  down  his 
ignorance  of  books  that  he  never  read,  and  to  compli 
ment  an  agony  tortured  out  of  a  piano  harmless  enough 
if  let  alone.  Don't  mistake  me  by  believing  that  I  dis 
like  company,  for  I  don't.  I  like  to  have  the  neighbors 
drop  in,  those  not  pretentiously  rich,  especially;  for,  to 
tell  you  a  truth  that  may  seem  a  little  queer,  I  don't 
feel  at  ease  among  what  you  might  call  the  high-flyers. 
The  days  of  my  own  poverty,  though  a  long  time  ago, 
are  still  too  fresh  in  my  mind.  I  know  that  men  who 
by  their  own  shrewdness  acquire  great  wealth  are  for 
the  most  part  snobbish,  but  I  can't  be  one  of  them.  To 
make  this  confession  perfectly  free,  and  you  know,  Mr. 
Howerson,  we  all  sooner  or  later  have  to  make  confession 
of  ourselves  —  let  me  declare  myself  a  democrat,  paying 
tribute  to  no  aristocracy  except  the  aristocracy  of  the 


THE  AMUSING  FOLLIES  OF  LIFE         195 

mind.  I  don't  mean  to  education,  for  that  may  mean 
industry  and  opportunity,  but  the  mind  which  without 
opportunity,  creates.  I  don't  know  what  your  chances 
have  been  in  the  past,  Mr.  Howerson,  but  out  at  Glen- 
wich,  sir,  you  created  something  out  of  almost  nothing. ' ' 

"  Do  tell  us  your  side  of  the  story,"  Rose  cried  out, 
and  the  doctor  smiled  and  was  sure  that  it  would  be  most 
interesting.  The  boy  looked  up  into  the  Poet's  face. 
"  Tell  'em  how  you  bought  my  coat,"  he  said.  Dan 
was  half  asleep,  his  cigar  between  his  fingers.  Harriet 
pretended  to  be  interested,  but  her  secret  desire  was  that 
the  others  might  give  her  an  opportunity  to  tell  the 
doctor  that  she  had  not  eaten  a  sausage  at  Antwerp,  but 
that  if  she  had  it  would  not  have  agreed  with  her. 

With  his  arms  about  little  Calvin,  Howerson  drew  him 
close  as  he  bent  over  him.  Something  that  old  Calvin 
had  said  ploughed  deep  in  his  mind.  It  was  not  the 
generous  reference  to  his  Glenwich  work ;  it  was,  ' '  We 
all  sooner  or  later  have  to  make  confession  of  ourselves. ' ' 
They  all  of  them  were  looking  at  him,  waiting.  Dan 
had  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Let  my  Glenwich  work  be  passed  over  lightly,  as  it 
deserves  to  be,"  he  said.  "  Whatever  it  was,  much  or 
little,  it  was  due  to  this  little  fellow's  faith  in  me.  He 
found  me  a  failure  and  left  me  worthy  of  confidence. 
I  was  a  grain  of  sand,  not  between  the  thumb  and  finger 
of  a  man  whose  mind  was  gasping  for  life,  but  between 
those  blessed  little  hands,  and  he  rolled  me  into  a  uni 
verse  of  gratitude." 

'  You  astonish  me, ' '  Henshaw  exclaimed,  and  in  truth. 
Rose  leaned  toward  the  Poet,  and  upon  him  old  Calvin 
turned  an  interested  eye. 

"  Go  on, Mr.  Howerson,"  he  said. 

The  eyes  of  the  young  woman  gazed  upon  him  with 


196  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

too  much  sympathy.  He  had  been  led  into  saying  too 
much.  The  time  was  yet  too  green.  But  it  was  difficult 
to  shift  his  ground ;  it  threatened  to  cave  in.  ' '  Tell  on, 
Mr.  Howerson, ' '  commanded  the  boy. 
y  "  Faith  is  the  sire  of  inspiration, "  he  began,  "  scor 
ing  "  for  a  start.  "  Calvin  said,  '  You  can  trust  Mr. 
Howerson,  can't  you,  grandpa?  '  and  from  that  moment 
I  could  safely  have  been  trusted  with  a  million  dollars. 
Faith  inspired  me  to  succeed.  ...  I  cannot  hope 
now  to  make  myself  understood,  but  you  will  understand 
when  there  comes  that  time  for  free  confession.  Miss 
Whateley,  it  may  interest  you,  and  perhaps  let  me  down 
a  little  in  your  opinion,  to  know  that  I  was  one  of  the 
worst  actors  that  ever  helped  to  improvise  a  stage  out 
of  a  horse  trough  and  a  barn  door.  Hugo  says  that 
destiny  is  approached  by  crossroads,  but  it  seemed  to 
have  been  demanded  of  me  that  I  should  scale  fences 
and  tear  my  way  through  briar  patches.  My  chart  led 
me  through  bogs,  into  the  home  of  the  Jack-o-Lantern. 
The  letters  on  my  banner  spelled  '  Disaster.'  But  Cal 
vin  rubbed  out  '  Disaster  '  and  wrote  '  Achievement.' 
Didn't  you,  Calvin?  " 

"  You  bet.  And  you  said  you'd  take  me  fishing  and 
you  will,  won't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  unless  they  pump  all  the  water  out  of  the 
rivers,  and  when  they  do  that,  we'll  wander  along  the 
sandy  beds  and  pick  up  shells." 

Calvin  clapped  his  hands.  "  Pete,  the  boy  in  our 
alley,  found  a  shell  and  sailed  it  way  over,  and  he  said 
he'd  bet  it  would  hit  a  policeman." 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  the  actor's  trade,  Mr. 
Howerson, ' ',  Whateley  said,  ' '  and  know  nothing  about 
the  actor  himself,  but  if  many  of  them  could  learn  to  win 
the  immediate  confidence  and  admiration  of  so  shrewd  a 


THE  AMUSING  FOLLIES  OF  LIFE         197 

little  audience  as  Calvin,  I  would  advise  the  average 
young  man  to  make  a  study  of  the  profession.  I  am  free 
to  say  that  I  did  not  inherit  the  Puritan's  prejudice 
against  the  actor.  I  read  somewhere  that  at  one  time 
in  London  it  was  quite  a  festival  of  the  church  to  tie 
him  to  the  tail-end  of  a  cart  and  whip  him  up  the  hill. 
Good  exercise  for  over-fed  deacons,  I  should  think,  eh, 
Doctor?  I  suppose  my  prejudice  was  reserved  for  the 
fiddler,  a  man  almost  beyond  the  law's  protection  in  my 
old  State  of  North  Carolina.  Only  between  religious 
revivals  was  he  looked  on  as  a  man  at  all,  for  then  he 
was  needed  to  fiddle  at  dances  when  '  Amazing  Grace  ' 
was  lost  to  the  tune  of  '  Old  Bob  Ridley. '  The  drama  is 
older  than  the  Jews  and  their  religion.  Am  I  not  right, 
Dr.  Henshaw?  " 

The  doctor  began  to  ahem  and  old  Calvin  continued: 
"  But  no  matter.  On  more  than  one  occasion  Edwin 
Booth  stirred  my  very  soul,  and  if  that  wasn't  greatness, 
then  there  was  nothing  great  in  Calhoun  or  Henry  Clay. 
Ha,  I  recall  when  Henry  Irving  first  came  to  this  town, 
quite  a  while  before  he  was  —  er  —  sirred.  A  wealthy 
extractor  of  cold  cream  from  rancid  fat  insisted  upon 
giving  him  a  reception,  and  it  was  amusing  afterward 
to  hear  that  he  had  taken  that  cultivated  gentleman  up 
into  '  our  set.'  ' 

Henshaw  was  twitching  to  say  something,  evidently  to 
Howerson  and  Whateley  combined,  but  the  Poet  was 
listening  to  Miss  Whateley.  She  said  that  it  must  have 
been  fun,  sleeping  under  hedges  after  the  manner  of 
immortal  tinkers.  If  she  had  been  a  man,  she  said,  and 
not  provided  for,  she  might  have  been  in  olden  days  a 
minstrel,  but  now  a  tramp,  she  feared.  Her  blood  was 
strong  like  her  sinews,  her  nerves;  noting  her  strength, 
all  must  have  felt  that  she  spoke  the  truth  of  her  feelings. 


198  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

How  those  eyes  could  have  flared  a  passion !  Howerson 
withdrew  his  eyes  from  her,  tore  them  away,  he  felt; 
and  gave  them  to  the  doctor,  ashened  of  their  fire. 

The  minister  was  twitching  to  talk,  and  bored  Harriet 
was  itching  to  hear  him.  For  her  the  conversation  had 
been  of  so  low  a  mental  tone  that  her  mind  could  scarcely 
hear  it.  She  had  stolen  the  luxury  of  more  than  one 
yawn.  Howerson  must  improve  or  she  could  not  grant 
him  the  brimming  measure  of  her  patronage.  He  might 
be  intellectual  but  surely  he  was  not  thoroughly  well 
bred.  He  had  given  her  no  opportunity  to  tell  him 
about  her  ill  health,  how  rare  it  was  that  she  got  three 
hours'  sleep.  And  as  for  her  poor  little  appetite  —  but 
the  doctor  had  begun  to  speak. 

"  My  very  dear  Mr.  Whateley,  far  be  it  from  me  to 
take  you  to  task  for  your  —  I  shall  not  say  defense,  but 
for  your  palliation  of  that  mimicry  termed  an  art  — 
begging  your  pardon,  Mr.  Howerson.  Ahem!  Nor  is 
it  for  me  to  take  issue  with  you  for  your  pleasantry  at 
the  expense  of  a  compounder  or  extractor  of  that  neces 
sary  article,  cold  cream.  But  we  must  not  forget,  even 
in  the  indulgence  of  our  native  humor,  that  America, 
more  than  a  democracy,  is  an  industry,  a  trade,  so  to 
speak.  And  if  in  any  manner,  in  jest  or  otherwise,  we 
convey  to  the  young  the  impression  that  we  place  a  ques 
tionable  accomplishment  above  a  necessary  and  creative 
productiveness,  we  have  borne,  as  it  were,  false  witness 
against  the  spirit  of  our  country." 

Whateley  nodded,  waiting  for  him  to  proceed.  Har 
riet,  thankful  that  cold  cream  rather  than  fish  had  been 
brought  forth,  looked  upon  the  doctor  as  true  champion 
of  American  gentility,  and  smiled.  Rose  made  a  quick 
swap  of  sly  fun  with  Howerson ;  and  Henshaw,  encour 
aged  by  his  own  frankness,  warmed  toward  greater 


THE  AMUSING  FOLLIES  OF  LIFE         199 

liberty.  "  Of  course  you  do  not  mean  it,  my  very  dear 
Mr.  Whateley,  but  those  less  acquainted  with  your  nature 
—  ahem  —  and  your  business  activity,  would  suppose 
that  you  —  I  might  say  —  sneer  at  certain  honest  occu 
pations.  Understand  me,  I  do  not  mean  —  ' ' 

' '  I  think  I  understand, ' '  Whateley  cut  him  off.  ' '  And 
I  don 't  know  but  you  are  right.  It  is  not  in  me  to  sneer 
at  a  man  who  earns  a  dollar.  Ha,  there  are  eminent 
citizens  who  would  like  the  opportunity  to  swear  that 
I  am  none  too  particular  as  to  how  I  get  a  dollar  myself. 
But  this  is  what  I  do  sneer  at,  Doctor:  the  snobbery  of 
men  who  get  money,  by  science,  art,  labor,  commerce  or 
theft." 

At  the  word  theft  the  doctor  raised  his  reverent  eyes. 
Old  Calvin  continued.  "  It  may  be  what  some  snobs 
might  call  un-American,  but  I  confess  respect  for  inher 
ited  money.  It  shows  that  there  has  been  thrift  in  the 
family,  and  though  our  hypocrisy  may  disclaim  it,  thrift 
is  the  cornerstone  of  all  the  virtues." 

Hereupon  the  doctor  granted  unto  himself  the  luxury 
of  a  shock.  Howerson  looked  on  and  mused,  ' '  Our  char 
acters  are  unfolding  toward  the  plot,  whatever  it  may 
be." 

Silent  Dan,  having  figured  out  a  future  majority,  made 
excuse  of  papers  waiting  his  examination,  shook  good 
night  with  the  two  guests  and  withdrew,  one  character 
of  whom  not  much  could  be  expected,  Howerson  thought. 
Freed  from  the  trammel  of  one  unsympathetic  ear,  as 
thinking  woman  often  is  when  her  husband  quits  the 
scene,  Harriet  smoothed  out  the  doctor 's  crimps,  received 
anew  the  history  of  the  Antwerp  enemy,  and  accepted 
thankfully  for  good  measure  the  learned  man's  recital 
of  a  hip-wrench  in  Liverpool,  occasioned  by  kicking  at 
a  vicious  dog.  Whateley  joined  in  with  the  contribution 


200  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

of  a  rheumatic  twinge,  and  when  the  doctor  arose  to 
take  his  leave,  he  taxed  his  memory  to  bring  back  an 
evening  spent  in  more  profit  and  enjoyment. 

When  he  was  gone  out  into  the  hall,  Harriet  following 
him  to  the  front  door,  little  Calvin  ran  over  to  his 
grandfather  and  whispered  to  him.  The  old  man 
changed  countenance,  coughed.  The  boy  said,  "  Please, 
grandpa,"  and  the  old  man  took  him  upon  his  knee, 
pressed  his  face  close  against  the  little  wooer's  curly 
head  and  replied,  "  Yes,  my  son,  it  shall  be  so.  Rose, 
my  dear,  he  wants  you  and  Mr.  Howerson  to  go  with 
us  into  the  Cabin.  Ah,  Mr.  Howerson,  let  me  explain." 

Then  he  gave  briefly  the  story  of  his  sanctuary,  and 
simple  it  was,  as  if  the  boy  himself  had  told  it.  Enrap 
tured  with  this  new  phase  of  Whateley  's  character,  How 
erson  listened  to  the  poem  of  the  old  log  cabin  in  the 
pine  woods.  He  could  hear  the  hum  of  the  spinning 
wheel,  hear  the  low  murmur  of  the  fire,  see  the  boy 
gazing  into  it.  He  heard  the  wind  moan  in  the  forest, 
the  clatter  of  the  cavalry  down  the  road,  the  cry  of  the 
night  hawk.  The  picture  of  an  old  man  and  an  old 
woman  arose  in  his  wind,  as  strong  as  a  reality ;  and  he 
heard  the  old  woman  pray  when  the  old  man  had  covered 
the  fire  and  gone  to  bed. 

Howerson  looked  at  Rose,  and  her  eyes  were  glowing ; 
he  looked  at  old  Calvin,  and  his  eyes  were  shut.  And 
when  the  tyrant  got  up  to  speak  to  old  Paul  about  the 
fire  in  the  Cabin,  the  young  woman  said  in  low  tones  as 
sweet  as  a  melody  half  hushed  to  let  us  dream :  ' '  You 
can  see  how  sacred  it  is  to  him,  Mr.  Howerson.  And  you 
are  the  first  one  outside  the  family  who  has  ever  been 
invited  to  cross  the  threshold. ' ' 


CHAPTER 
ON  THE  REAL  STAGE 

The  soul  of  the  Poet  was  touched  with  the  spirit  of 
reverence.  Into  the  old  log  cabin  he  entered  as  one 
who  has  shaken  off  his  sandals  at  the  door  of  the  temple. 
He  had  seen  the  old  man's  character  change  its  hue  as 
the  sward  is  changed  by  shifting  shadows.  Now  it  was 
illumined.  Falling  upon  his  countenance,  the  light  from 
the  blazing  logs  seemed  softer.  On  the  wall  in  a  corner, 
the  scoured  pots  and  pans  were  gleaming.  The  white 
pine  floor  was  creamed  with  age.  And  what  could  it  be 
that  so  perfumed  the  air  ?  Was  it  incense  of  the  virgin 
woods,  or  was  it  that  the  Poet  caught  the  sweet,  rem 
iniscent  smell  of  poetry,  Ben  Jonson's  "  nard  in  the 
fire"? 

The  savant  who  said  "  The  drama  would  be  great  if 
there  were  no  actors,"  could  not  have  had  in  mind  such 
actors  as  were  come  together  on  this  stage  of  real  play. 
Master  by  indulgence  elsewhere,  the  boy  was  master  here 
by  right,  by  imagination,  the  genius  of  youth.  "  What 
is  your  boy  name?  "  he  asked  of  Howerson. 

"  George." 

"  And  grandpa's  name  is  Big  Calvin,  and  I'm  Little 
Calvin,  and  Aunt  Rose's  name  is  Eose.  Call  her  Rose, 
George." 

George  looked  at  her  as  she  sat  simple  and  radiant  by 
the  hearth,  and  called  her  ' '  Rose, ' '  and  she  laughed,  true 
comedienne  of  the  play ;  and  the  '  *  nard  in  the  fire  ' ' 

201 


202  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

sputtered  its  sweetness  on  the  air.  The  old  man  was  as 
much  a  child  as  the  boy,  for  the  Cabin  was  not  a  make- 
believe  but  a  real  past ;  and  as  all  poets  are  of  the  long 
ago,  Howerson  helped  the  illusion;  and  Big  Calvin  put 
his  hand  on  George's  knee,  and  laughed  with  him. 

Now  afar  off  the  long  roll  was  beating,  and  they  knew 
that  out  in  the  dark  the  soldiers  startled  from  sleep  were 
leaping  to  arms.  ' '  The  bugle !  ' '  cried  the  boy.  ' '  The 
cavalry  is  coming!  "'  Down  the  road  the  horsemen  sped, 
cutting  the  air  with  strips  of  moonlight,  their  sabers. 

They  halted  and  some  of  them  came  and  knocked  on 
the  door,  to  search  the  house ;  and  George  met  the  captain 
and  assured  him  that  no  enemy  was  there.  "  No  one 
here  but  just  us  children,"  he  said;  and  the  cavalry 
swept  on,  and  the  children  laughed,  for  they  knew  that 
over  in  the  corner  behind  the  spinning  wheel,  a  Con 
federate  officer  was  hiding.  He  was  grateful  to  them 
for  this  protection,  and  when  they  let  him  out  at  the 
door  he  called  on  the  Lord  to  bless  them. 

At  the  whim  of  the  boy,  when  one  play  was  ended 
another  was  begun,  and  in  the  speeches  where  exactness 
was  to  be  most  observed,  he  told  each  one  what  to  say. 
The  humorous  lines  he  gave  out  with  solemn  brow,  but 
when  pronounced  after  him  and  in  appropriate  place,  he 
would  laugh  and  clap  his  hands,  truest  of  all  inspira 
tion,  unconscious  of  itself.  And  when  the  plays  were 
played,  they  told  tales.  The  boy  would  not  let  them 
say  "  stories  "  for  story  meant  a  thing  not  true.  So 
they  told  tales  while  Big  Calvin  was  busy  with  an  ash- 
cake.  The  Poet  told  the  story  of  a  boy  about  the  age 
of  Little  Calvin,  who  killed  the  wolf  whose  skin  was  now 
on  Little  Calvin's  back.  This  was  a  delightful  tale  and 
the  poet  had  to  tell  it  twice ;  and  then  Rose  began  about  a 
little  girl,  but  the  boy  did  not  want  it. 


ON  THE  REAL  STAGE  203 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  but  this  is  about  a  little  girl  that 
was  saved  from  the  wolves  by  a  little  boy. ' ' 

"  Well  tell  it,  but  make  the  girl  part  short,"  he  com 
manded,  and  Big  Calvin  turned  from  his  bread-baking 
to  look  up  with  a  smile. 

' '  '  Cause  if  you  don 't, ' '  the  boy  went  on,  ' '  Pete  in 
the  alley  won't  like  it  when  I  tell  it  to  him.  He  don't 
like  girls;  he  calls  'em  mutts." 

"  But  you  like  nice  little  girls,  don't  you?  "  Rose 
asked  of  him  and  he  shook  his  head.  "  No,  not  the  nice 
ones,  for  they  are  afraid  of  the  dirt.  A  girl  named  Kit 
used  to  come  into  our  alley,  long  time  ago  and  rassled 
with  me  and  Pete,  and  she  was  strong  and  we  liked  her, 
for  she  wasn't  afraid  of  dirt  and  laughed  at  mud,  and 
she  called  Pete  a  liar  just  like  a  boy  would;  and  once 
she  hit  him  in  the  nose  and  when  he  boxed  her  jaws  she 
didn't  cry.  She  was  good,  you  bet,  but  they  ruint  her." 

Ruined  her!  This  was  getting  to  be  serious,  threat 
ening,  in  fact,  and  with  an  idle  remark  which  seemed 
to  smother  the  sweetness  of  the  "  nard  in  the  in  fire,"  a 
change  of  subject  was  essayed.  George  spoke  of  another 
wolf,  but  a  wolf  dragged  in  is  not  a  good  wolf,  and  the 
boy  would  have  none  of  him.  Big  Calvin  was  wiser, 
had  more  confidence  in  the  morals  of  the  alley,  and  he 
looked  up  and  inquired,  "  How  did  they  ruin  her?  " 

And  the  boy  answered:  "  Why,  somebody  gave  her 
some  clean  dresses,  a  pink  one  and  a  blue  one,  and 
then  she  was  afraid  of  the  dirt  and  turned  up  her  nose 
at  us  and  called  us  horrid,  and  went  over  in  a  lot  to 
play  with  a  boy  that  had  on  a  pink  sash  like  her  dress ; 
and  Pete  said  he  could  whip  that  boy,  and  he  did ;  and 
I  could 'er  whipped  him  too,  but  I  wouldn't  whip  a  boy 
that  had  just  been  whipped.  Would  you,  George?  " 

George  said  he  would  not,  and  Big  Calvin  shook  his 


204  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

head  and  declared  that  none  but  a  coward  would  do 
such  a  thing.  "  Eh,  what  is  it?  "  he  inquired  of  old 
Paul  who,  having  entered  unperceived,  was  now  standing 
on  the  edge  of  the  hearth. 

"  You  must  pardon  me,  sir,  but  I  couldn't  get  out  of 
it.  He  said  it  was  so  important  he  must  see  you,  sir  — 
as  much  as  swore  he  would  camp  here  till  you  came  back. 
I  don't  think  I  go  too  far  in  saying  that  camp  was  his 
very  word,  sir ;  but  I  tried  my  best  to  put  him  out,  with 
words,  for  you  must  know  that  I  am  an  old  man,  having 
been  forced  out  of  the  wheat  pit  and  then  back  from 
the  curb  years  ago.  He  —  ' ' 

The  character  of  Big  Calvin  fell  off  like  a  cloak,  and 
Whateley  stood  there,  dazing  with  fearful  eye  the  old 
butler's  countenance. 

' '  What  —  what  the  devil  do  you  mean  ?  You  slob 
bering  old  idiot,  haven't  I  told  you  a  hundred  times 
that  you  are  never  to  interrupt  me  here  with  anything 
from  the  outside?  Out  with  you!  " 

"  Oh,  no,  father,"  Rose  protested,  and  she  stood  up 
close  against  old  Whateley  —  old  Whateley  now  sure 
enough.  She  took  his  arm  and  put  it  about  her  neck, 
like  a  boa.  "  Be  patient,  father.  His  offense  is  great, 
but  he  is  old.  Hear  what  he  has  to  say.  What  is  it, 
Paul?  " 

"  You  see,  Miss  Rose,  and  you,  Mr.  Whateley,  I 
couldn't  help  myself,  for  he  walked  right  by  me  into 
the  library.  He  said  they  were  fighting  at  the  coal  mines 
in  Missouri  —  five  men  shot  to-day.  He  is  a  newspaper 
reporter —  " 

"  Go  and  tell  him  it's  none  of  his  infernal  business. 
Out  with  you." 

"  Ah,  wait  a  moment,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Whateley. 
Let  me  see  him,"  Howerson  requested. 


ON  THE  REAL  STAGE  205 

' '  Yes  —  yes,  I  thank  you.  I  leave  it  to  you  —  yes. 
You  will  know  what  to  say.  Yes." 

Rose  took  her  arm  from  about  her  father's  neck.  "  I 
am  going  too, ' '  she  said.  ' '  We  will  make  —  I  was  going 
to  say,  a  lark  of  it,  George  —  ' ' 

His  name  on  her  lips,  not  in  play,  thrilled  him.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon  —  Mr.  Howerson.  But  come  on.  I  am 
going  with  you.  I  might  make  it  easier." 

"  You  will  make  it  delightful,"  he  replied. 

A  young  man  wearing  rimless  glasses  and  with  a  uni 
versity  countenance,  walked  slowly  about  in  the  library, 
halting  to  look  at  the  title  of  a  book,  glancing  at  his 
watch,  listening.  It  has  been  charged  that  the  university- 
ite  does  not  do  well  except  along  lines  strictly  profes 
sional,  that  the  refinement  of  the  classics  robs  one  of  a 
persistent  force  thought  to  be  inherently  American.  Old 
Horace  Greeley  believed  that  the  best  reporters  came 
up  with  haphazard  reading  from  the  street,  but  the 
"  push  "  of  to-day's  college  output  might  cause  old 
Horace  to  change  his  view. 

The  reporter  turned  about,  bowed,  and  sat  down  when 
Howerson  gestured  toward  a  chair.  He  looked  at  Rose, 
at  Howerson,  both  of  whom  had  sat  down  for  a  visit. 

' '  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Whateley. ' ' 

"  Yes,"  said  Howerson,  "  so  we  learned  from  the  but 
ler.  But  Mr.  Whateley  is  not  in  town.  He  is  at  this 
moment  in  North  Carolina." 

"  Why,  the  butler  at  first  denied  and  then  acknowl 
edged  that  Mr.  Whateley  was  at  home." 

"  No  doubt.  But  the  butler  is  a  very  old  man  and 
needed  rest." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Needed  rest,  you  say?  " 

"  Yes,  from  the  '  third  degree  '  to  which  you  were 
subjecting  him.  He  confessed  to  obtain  relief." 


206  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Oh,  I  see.    And  may  I  ask  as  to  who  you  are?  " 

"  With  perfect  freedom.  I  am  John  Gaboon,  Mr. 
Whateley's  private  secretary  and  adviser  by  stealth." 

"  I  must  confess  that  I  don't  quite  understand  that 
position.  Adviser  by  stealth,  did  you  say?  " 

"  Yes,  advise  him  to  sleep  when  he  is  sleeping." 

"  I  see.  But  on  an  occasion  so  serious  as  this,  secre 
taries  are  usually  less  humorous.  Beg  pardon,  but  may 
I  ask  who  this  young  lady  is?  " 

"  My  sister  Jane,  Mr.  Whateley's  confidential  stenog 
rapher." 

They  saw  the  reporter  blink  behind  his  glasses.  He 
bowed  to  Jane.  "  You  very  much  resemble  a  picture 
of  Miss  Whateley,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  John?  "  Jane  cried.  "  He  has 
noticed  it  too.  Our  minister  spoke  of  it  this  afternoon 
and  then  asked  me  to  auction  off  autographed  books  at 
the  Church  Fair.  John,  dear,  get  the  gentleman  a 
cigar. ' ' 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  am  more  liberal  than  even  your 
minister.  I  don't  charge  anything  for  discovering  so 
clear  a  resemblance.  And  I  am  grateful  for  pleasantry, 
but  I  have  been  sent  to  ask  several  questions,  Mr. — 
Cahoon,  did  you  say?  " 

' '  Yes,  John  Cahoon,  late  of  the  Chair  of  Agricultural 
Economy,  of  the  University  of  Sand  Point,  Idaho." 

"  A  worthy  chair  that  no  doubt  was  amply  filled,  Mr. 
Cahoon.  It  is  not,  however,  of  Idaho  but  of  Missouri 
that  I  wish  to  talk.  Mr.  Whateley  recently  closed  down 
his  coal  mines  at  Rockdale,  on  account  of  a  strike  among 
the  men." 

'  Yes,  a  man  has  a  right  to  shut  up  his  shop." 

"  Those  of  the  mine  hi  favor  of  the  strike  and  those 


ON  THE  REAL  STAGE  207 

opposed  are  now  at  open  war,  and  five  of  them  were 
shot  to-day." 

"  Possibly.  But  that  is  the  state's  lookout.  Mr. 
Whateley  is  not  a  justice  of  the  peace.  I  suppose  you 
know  why  the  question  of  a  strike  came  up?  "  Hower- 
son  did  not  know;  he  wanted  to  find  out. 

"  Yes,  on  account  of  the  dismissal  of  a  man." 

' '  Of  course,  and  not  on  account  of  wages.  They  came 
forward  with  their  bullying  methods.  Mr.  Whateley  lis 
tened  patiently,  and  then  he  told  them  that  he  must 
be  permitted  to  run  his  own  business  in  his  own  way. 
And  I  suppose  you  know  that  this  is  regarded  as  the 
most  brutal  remark  that  a  man  can  make.  '  What,  run 
his  own  business  in  his  own  way !  He  deserves  to  die. 
Let  us  blow  up  his  house!  '  I  suppose  you  know  why 
that  man  —  now,  what  is  his  name  ?  It  was  on  the  end 
of  my  tongue  this  minute." 

"  Codowski, "  said  the  reporter. 

"  Codowski.  And  I  suppose  you  know  why  Codowski 
was  discharged." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Whateley 's  superintendent  out  there  says 
that  he  was  lazy  and  incompetent.  The  men  say  it  was 
because  he  expressed  his  opinions." 

"  Ah,  left  off  work  to  talk.  Now,  we  employ  men  and 
pay  them  good  wages.  What  for  ?  To  express  opinions  ? 
No,  to  work.  We  can  form  our  own  opinions,  and  when 
we  need  assistance  we  can  turn  to  the  newspapers.  Just 
as  soon  as  these  men  agree  to  let  us  operate  our  business 
in  our  own  way,  they  may  go  back  to  work,  but  until 
they  do,  the  mines  will  remain  closed.  You  say  the 
men  are  now  fighting  on  account  of  a  dissention  among 
themselves.  This  shows  that  we  have  not  tried  to  sup 
plant  them  with  men  from  the  outside.  I  think,  sir, 


208  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

the  man  to  interview  in  this  instance  is  not  Mr.  Whateley, 
but  the  sheriff  of  the  county.  I  have  given  you  Mr. 
Whateley 's  views." 

The  reporter  looked  about  for  his  hat,  found  it;  and 
Howerson  went  with  him  to  the  door.  He  expected  Rose 
to  join  him  in  the  hallway,  to  go  with  him  to  the  Cabin, 
but  she  did  not  follow  him;  and  he  returned  to  the 
library,  glad  of  the  chance  to  talk  to  her  alone.  As  he 
resumed  his  seat  she  looked  up  with  a  smile  and  said : 

"  We  are  fellow  conspirators  in  a  fraud." 

"  Pals,"  he  replied. 

This  notion  so  pleased  them  that  they  laughed  like 
true  companions.  The  companionship  of  idea  may  be 
close,  but  not  so  close  as  that  of  laughter.  ' '  Oh,  I  care 
not  what  you  believe,"  said  a  philosopher,  "  but  if  your 
soul  can  laugh  with  mine  own,  I  then  shall  know  that  we 
are  friends."  They  laughed,  the  bubbling  of  physical 
natures  pleased  one  with  the  other.  They  did  not  seek 
for  bright  sayings,  for  wit,  but  laughed  with  the  chum- 
miness  of  kindred  nerves. 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  really  knew  we  were  stringing 
him?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  yes.  And  so  does  the  fish,  but  he's  strung  just 
the  same." 

"  It  will  amuse  father  very  much." 

"  I  don't  know.    Wait  till  he  sees  the  interview." 

' '  But  you  didn  't  say  anything  —  I  mean  anything  to 
give  offense." 

' '  I  don 't  know  about  that,  either ;  but  almost  anything 
can  be  written  into  offense." 

"  I  have  often  thought  that  I  should  like  to  go  about 
and  gather  up  news,"  she  said,  and  looked  as  if  she 
meant  it. 


ON  THE  REAL  STAGE  209 

"  Most  women  prefer  the  stage,"  he  replied.  "  How 
is  it  that  you  don't?  " 

"  Because  I  would  rather  write  lines  of  my  own  than 
to  have  them  set  down  for  me,  like  a  copy  book.  Some 
time  ago  I  wrote  some  letters  from  Montana  —  went  with 
a  woman  who  had  mining  interests  out  there  —  just  us 
two.  I  didn't  go  as  Calvin  Whateley's  daughter.  I 
think  my  name  was  Jane  —  I'm  sure  it  was.  How  did 
you  come  to  guess  it  just  now?  But  it  was  not  Jane 
Gaboon,  your  sister,  but  Jane  Barnes.  Father  said  that 
in  my  letters  to  a  newspaper  I  developed  a  socialistic 
tendency.  You  know  a  great  many  people  do.  It  seems 
to  be  the  easiest  way  to  write.  Father  laughed,  for  none 
of  our  friends  knew.  He  said,  '  I  guess,  my  daughter, 
there  is  a  good  deal  of  the  squaw  about  you.'  And  I 
couldn't  help  thinking  he  was  right.  Sister  Harriet  was 
dreadfully  shocked;  she  always  is.  She  ran  to  Dr.  Hen- 
shaw  and  begged  him  not  to  say  a  word  about  it,  as  if  he 
could  have  known  anything  about  it  unless  she  had  told 
him.  "With  great  effort  he  restrained  himself  from  tears ; 
and  when  I  came  home  he  told  me  that  I  was  a  bird 
of  plumage,  pecking  at  the  foundation  stones  of  society. 
When  greatly  wrought  up  his  figures  of  speech  are  not 
always  happily  chosen.  .  .  .  Were  you  ever  in  Mon 
tana?  " 

"  Well,  hardly.  Once  I  was  headed  in  that  direction, 
but  our  ghost  was  taken  with  rheumatism  and  couldn't 
hobble.  So  we  walked  for  him,  back  to  our  starting  point. 
Tell  me  about  your  letters." 

"  Oh,  they  were  weak  enough  compared  with  the 
scenes  that  inspired  them;  and  when  I  read  them  over, 
all  together,  I  burnt  them.  And  now  I  remember  only 
the  pleasure  of  writing  them." 


210  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Inspiration's  only  reward,"  he  said. 

"  Indiscretion's  only  protection,"  she  laughed. 
"  Shall  we  go  back  to  the  Cabin?  " 

"  Yes.     I  had  forgotten  it." 

They  went  out  into  the  hall.  "  Does  your  father  go 
into  the  sanctuary  every  night  ?  ' ' 

"  No.  Sometimes  not  for  weeks.  The  soul  has  its 
humors. ' ' 

"  The  soul  is  a  Homer  that  nods.  It  is  not  always 
sublime. ' ' 

Silently  they  opened  the  Cabin  door.  The  old  man  was 
sitting  in  his  hickory  rocking  chair,  the  boy  in  his  lap, 
both  asleep.  Rose  and  Howerson  tiptoed  out  of  the  room. 
' '  I  wanted  only  to  bid  them  good  night, ' '  said  the  Poet. 
"  I  must  go." 

She  went  with  him  to  the  front  door  and  held  forth 
her  hand.  "  Good  night,  pal,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XVIH. 
CHUCKLED  OVER  IT 

Whateley  sometimes  broke  fast  at  an  hour  so  early 
that  none  save  his  daughter  joined  him.  At  such  times 
he  would  tap  lightly  on  her  door,  and  nearly  always 
found  her  with  a  book  in  her  hand.  But  on  the  morn 
ing  after  Howerson  's  visit  he  met  her  in  the  hall,  reading 
a  newspaper.  Never  before  had  he  detected  in  her  so 
sharp  a  zest  for  news,  and  he  spoke  of  it  laughingly,  with 
his  arm  about  her,  walking  toward  the  dining  room. 
She  told  about  the  interview,  the  trick  that  had  been 
played,  and  the  old  man  chuckled  as  he  sat  down.  She 
read  to  him  the  expanded  statement  of  ' '  Mr.  Whateley 's 
representative,  John  Gaboon,  a  man  so  remote  in  nature, 
education  and  experience  from  the  laboring  classes  as 
to  have  no  understanding  of  them. ' '  In  the  heavy-headed 
column  there  was  no  hint  of  the  thread  on  which  John 
and  Jane  had  thought  to  ' '  string  ' '  the  interviewer.  His 
mission  was  serious  and  his  work  was  solemn.  Whate 
ley  listened. 

"  Good,"  he  said.  "  It's  exactly  what  I  would  have 
told  him.  But  how  did  Howerson  happen  to  know  so 
much?  I  didn't  discuss  it  with  him." 

' '  He  found  out  from  the  reporter  —  stole  it,  you  might 
say.  It  was  the  shrewdest  play  I  ever  saw,"  and  she 
believed  it  was.  In  her  natural  partiality  she  did  not 
place  true  estimate  on  the  reporter's  art;  she  did  not 
see  it  hidden  slyly  in  the  sketch. 

211 


212  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  That's  what  I  call  rare  judgment,"  said  the  old 
man.  "It  is  not  possessed  by  more  than  one  man  in 
ten  thousand." 

He  was  too  ready  to  join  in  with  her  view.  It  robbed 
her  of  argument,  stripped  off  the  adornment  of  the 
advocate.  "  And  yet  your  own  judgment  didn't  select 
him.  He  was  chosen  through  Calvin's  inexperienced 
eyes.  Still  we  are  told  that  man  is  governed  by  reason. 
There  wasn't  any  reason  in  your  selection,  was  there?  " 

She  laughed  at  him  and  he  laughed  at  himself.  "  No, 
I  can't  say  there  was.  But  you  must  acknowledge  that 
I  might  have  seen  something  in  the  man  myself.  I  have 
some  little  penetration  into  character,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  wonderful,"  she  cried.  "  Sometimes  you  are 
a  wizard.  You  have  made  fewer  mistakes  than  any  man 
anywhere." 

"  But  I  might  have  been  mistaken  in  Mr.  Howerson, 
eh?  " 

"  Might  have  made  a  mistake  in  choosing  him  with 
the  eyes  of  a  boy. ' ' 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  liked  him." 

' '  I  do ;  very  much.  And  when  we  like  a  man  we  say 
he's  different  —  different  from  what?  Well,  different 
from  men  we  don't  like.  But  really,  father,  don't  you 
think  many  a  failure,  if  given  the  proper  chance,  would 
be  a  success?  " 

"  Possibly.  But  whose  duty  is  it  to  go  around  seek 
ing  out  proper  chances  for  previous  failures  ?  Not  mine. 
Now,  I  am  of  the  opinion,  as  you  must  have  gathered 
long  before  this,  that  a  man  is  to  be  or  is  not  to  be  a 
success.  Never  mind  how;  predestination  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  Providence  —  Nature  doesn't  give  a  rap. 
But  Nature  or  something  selects,  and  there  you  are. 
That's  all  been  threshed  over  thousands  of  times.  But 


CHUCKLED  OVER  IT  213 

I  '11  tell  you  something  that  hasn  't.  It 's  this :  Some  men 
have  too  much  judgment." 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  can  be." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  replied.  "  But  some  men  have 
so  much  judgment  that  it  amounts  to  fear.  I've  had 
men  working  for  me  that  became  so  careful  of  my  inter 
est  as  to  hurt  that  same  interest  by  over-nursing.  Many 
a  fellow  has  coddled  a  job  to  death.  Howerson  doesn't 
do  that.  He  takes  a  risky  chance.  Where  some  men 
might  feel  their  way  along,  he  leaps.  Of  course  this  won 't 
do  with  all  men,  but  when  you  find  one  that  it  will  do 
with,  why  then  you  have  found  a  winner  sure  enough. ' ' 

"  Yes,"  she  agreed,  "  but  experiment  is  rather  dan 
gerous;  and  how  are  you  to  know  without  a  trial?  You 
remember  we  read  Montaigne  together ;  and  I  remember 
he  declared  his  ability  but  acknowledged  that  his  success 
had  been  hampered  by  want  of  luck.  Then  why  not 
say  that  the  whole  scheme  of  life  is  largely  luck,  and 
that  as  a  boy  is  lucky  —  that  he  wasn  't  a  girl  —  why  not 
let  him  employ  men  for  your  important  offices?  "  She 
was  laughing  at  him. 

"  Leave  it  to  such  boys  as  Calvin?  Yes,"  he  said. 
' '  Hah,  but  were  you  unlucky  to  find  yourself  a  girl  ?  ' ' 

"  I  was  lucky  to  find  myself  your  daughter,  you  dear 
old  tenderness." 

Now  his  laugh  was  loud.  Tenderness !  In  the  street  his 
heart  was  a  joke  and  he  knew  it,  humored  it  grimly 
along.  And  it  was  grimness  that  now  laughed  out  so 
loud.  Foreseeing  a  day  of  worry  and  struggle,  he  had 
arisen  early  to  be  fresh  and  strong  in  grappling  with 
it.  He  pointed  to  the  interview.  "  Bad  business,  Rose. 
There'll  be  widows  and  orphans  out  there  before  it's 
over  with." 

"  But  can't  something  be  done  to  stop  it?  For  the 


214  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

sake  of  peace  why  not  yield  a  point  and  reinstate  Codow- 
ski?  " 

Old  Calvin  shook  his  head.  "  That  wouldn't  mean 
peace,  for  they  have  forgotten  him  and  are  fighting 
among  themselves."  Then,  clearing  his  throat  with  a 
sound  like  the  grating  of  a  harsh  and  heavy  hinge,  he 
looked  at  her  and  said:  "  But  if  I  knew  that  taking 
Codowski  back  would  bring  peace  and  eternal  pros 
perity  I  wouldn't  do  it.  And  if  I  knew  that  my  not 
taking  him  back  would  result  in  the  death  of  a  hundred 
men,  I  wouldn't  do  it.  My  scheme  of  life  and  business 
may  be  all  wrong,  but  I  enter  into  no  compromise  that 
calls  my  principles  into  question." 

"  But  come  now,  dad,  isn't  it  in  your  nature  ever 
to  forgive?  " 

' '  In  my  nature  to  forgive  as  Nature  forgives  —  just 
about.  Nature  doesn't  stop  a  snowstorm  because  a  man 
has  pawned  his  overcoat." 

"  True  enough,  dad;  but  the  man  may  have  pawned 
his  overcoat  to  keep  from  starving." 

"  But  it  snows  just  the  same,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  snowrs  just  the  same  when  little  children  are 
cold  and  hungry.  And  among  those  miners'  children 
there  are  boys  like  Calvin,  and  these  boys  have  grand 
fathers  who  are  working  out  their  long  sentence  of 
sorrow." 

"  Eh?  " 

"  Yes,  loving  old  grandfathers  who  live  in  cabins  but 
who  don 't  know  how  to  play  in  them. ' ' 

"  Eh?  But  they  know  how  to  sit  about  their  fires 
and  talk  sedition  against  their  own  interests  and  mine. 
Bad  business.  .  .  .  And  of  course  subscriptions  will 
be  taken  up  for  their  relief." 


CHUCKLED  OVER  IT  215 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Hum!  And  I  want  you,  in  the  most  sneaking  and 
underhand  way,  to  see  that  I  give  more  than  all  the 
rest  of  the  public  put  together.  Don't!  Quit,  I  tell 
you." 

Now  she  was  behind  his  chair  with  her  arms  about 
his  neck.  "  Dear  tender-hearted  dad!  " 

"  Quit  it.  But  if  you  let  anyone  find  it  out,  I'll  marry 
you  to  old  Henshaw." 

' '  Oh,  good,  and  like  the  ancient  pedant  we  could  keep 
a  school  in  a  church,  and  we'd  buy  us  a  sad  little 
melodeon,  and  you  could  come  to  see  us  in  our  cottage 
at  night,  and  sing  hymns  with  us." 

"  Dreadful  picture.  .  .  .  But  I  must  run  along 
now." 

She  ran  along  with  him,  as  he  termed  it,  out  to  the 
big  gate  where  at  the  step  the  car  was  waiting.  "  Now 
be  very  good  to-day,"  she  said,  and  kissed  him. 

At  the  office  there  were  worries  in  thick  plenty  waiting 
for  him,  their  bulk  puffing  out  the  early  mail.  Money 
has  nerves  to  be  racked,  but  money  has  also  muscles 
wherewith  to  be  strong  and  to  fight;  and  old  Calvin 
squared  himself  for  combat. 

One  of  the  earliest  callers  was  the  mayor  of  the  Mis 
souri  mining  town.  He  said  that  the  strike  must  be 
settled.  Whateley  gave  him  a  long  look.  "  Oh,  I  see, 
and  you  want  to  go  to  Congress  on  the  strength  of  set 
tling  it.  Well,  what's  your  plan?  " 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  I  didn't  say  I  wanted  to  go 
to  Congress." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  did.  But  perhaps  it  was  your 
manner  that  did  the  talking.  You  are  one  of  these 
reformers,  I  take  it.  They  come  up  like  mullen  stalks  in 


216  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

your  state,  I  believe,  but  go  to  seed  somewhat  earlier. 
Hum.  ...  Is  there  anything  else  you  wished  to 
say?  " 

' '  Anything  else  I  wish  to  say !  I  haven 't  said  any 
thing  yet,  sir." 

"  Ah,  quite  true.  But  would  you  mind  giving  me 
some  idea  as  to  what  you  intend  to  say  ?  ' ' 

"  I  will  indeed;  and  when  you  permit  me,  sir,  I  will 
tell  you  that  this  outrageous  state  of  affairs  must  be 
done  away  with." 

"  I  see,"  said  old  Calvin,  and  then  he  called  out, 
"  Jim!  "  The  retired  aspirant  for  honors  of  the  prize 
ring  appeared  in  the  door.  "  Jim,  this  unfortunate 
gentleman  has  had  a  stroke.  He  has  lost  his  memory. 
He  has  forgotten  the  way  to  the  elevator.  Show  him, 
please. ' ' 

In  a  moment  the  mayor's  shoulder  was  beneath  Jim's 
mighty  clutch.  The  politician  shrugged  and  scuffled  to 
explain,  but  Jim  picked  him  up,  turned  him  about  and 
trotted  him  out-  into  the  corridor. 

At  night  when  old  Calvin  went  home  he  declared  to 
his  daughter  that  during  all  the  day  he  had  been  as 
softly  spoken  and  as  gentle  as  the  blind  fiddler  who, 
on  the  corner,  had  drawn  out  his  pleading  strains. 

For  little  Calvin  it  had  been  a  busy  day,  begun  in 
eagerness  to  steal  forth  from  beneath  the  eye  of  dele 
gated  authority,  to  strut  wolf-clad  in  the  envious  gaze  of 
Alley  Pete,  and  ending  in  the  virtuous  lamentations  of 
Harriet,  his  mother.  About  the  house  he  had  played 
for  a  long  time,  humming  the  tune  of  obedience,  his 
wolf  coat  hidden  in  a  corner  of  the  yard.  He  told  the 
nurse  that  he  would  go  upstairs  where  he  could  be 
quiet,  and  he  hummed  up  the  stairway  and  she  heard 
him  shut  the  door  of  his  room.  But  she  did  not  hear 


CHUCKLED  OVER  IT  217 

him  open  it,  did  not  see  him  sneaking  down  the  stairs, 
out  of  the  hall,  into  the  yard.  Dodging  about  in  the 
shrubbery  he  got  his  coat  and  hid  himself  near  a  small 
gate  opening  out  upon  a  side  street;  and  there  he 
awaited  opportunity,  for  the  gate,  though  small,  was 
heavy,  and  he  could  not  open  it.  He  heard  Pete's  cry 
but  was  afraid  to  answer.  It  was  long  past  the  milk 
man's  time;  it  was  time  for  the  grocer's  boy,  but  it 
seemed  that  he  would  never  come.  The  March  air  was 
cold,  and  now  his  bristled  coat  was  true  servant  to  his 
need.  Peeping  out  he  saw  the  nurse  come  down  the 
rear  stair  into  the  yard,  watched  her  spread  a  hand 
kerchief  upon  a  bush  to  dry,  heard  her  sing  a  plaintive 
coster  song.  She  came  toward  him  and  his  heart  beat 
fast,  for  he  knew  that  she  stole  sometimes  to  the  gate 
to  talk  with  the  policeman.  But  someone  called  her  at 
a  moment  most  precious  to  the  boy,  and  turning  about 
she  left  him  there  to  wait.  The  gate  latch  clicked:  the 
grocer's  freckled  scout;  and  the  boy  leaped  from  the 
thicket. 

"  Wait,  don't  shut  the  gate.     I  want  to  go  out." 

"  Ho,  you  mean  you  want  to  sneak  out.  I  know  you, 
kiddo.  And  I  could  get  paid  for  givin'  you  away  in 
yonder."  He  shut  the  gate  and  planted  himself  in  Cal 
vin's  path. 

' '  Let  me  out,  please ;  and  if  you  don 't  tell  on  me  I  '11 
give  you  a  whole  lot  of  money  when  my  grandfather 
comes  home." 

"  Ho,  heap  o'  money  you'll  git  from  the  likes  o'  him. 
That  woman  in  yonder  would  give  me  a  quarter.  About 
how  much  you  think  you  can  git  from  the  old  guy?  " 

"  Don't  you  call  him  a  guy  or  I'll  hit  you." 

"  Well,  the  old  man,  then.     How  much?  " 

"  Two  quarters." 


218  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Come  off." 

"  Two  quarters,  and  I'll  give  'em  to  you  when  you 
come  to-morrow." 

"  Cross  your  heart  an'  hope  to  die?  " 

"  See?  "  he  crossed  himself.    "  And  I  hope  to  die." 

"  All  right,  you  can  go  out,  but  if  you  ditch  me,  the 
devil  will  come  in  the  night  an'  take  you  away  on  his 
horns.  He  took  my  brother  away  'bout  your  size  an' 
looked  like  you,  an'  he  ain't  come  back,  an'  sometimes 
in  the  night  if  we  listen  close  we  can  hear  him  hollerin ', 
an'  it's  awful.  Do  you  believe  me?  " 

"  Yes." 

' '  Then  go  on,  but  don 't  you  f orgit. ' ' 

He  opened  the  gate  and  Calvin  ran  out.  Pete  was 
walking  up  and  down  the  alley,  his  hands  deep  in  his 
pockets.  When  he  saw  Calvin  he  cried  aloud  his  aston 
ishment  and  could  not  conceal  his  admiration.  He 
stroked  reverently  the  wolf's  bristles ;  he  whistled,  and  in 
terms  not  to  be  found  in  the  picture  book  he  swore  that  he 
had  never  before  set  eyes  on  anything  so  wondrous  fine. 
But  then  within  him  arose  the  critic,  resentful  of  his 
own  unstinted  praise.  "  Oh,  yes,  it's  putty  good,  but 
you  ought  to  seen  a  coat  my  brother  had,  made  out  of 
a  lion's  skin,  an'  wolves  ain't  nothing  to  lions.  One 
lion  can  whip  as  many  wolves  as  can  git  round  him. 
Lions  don 't  pay  no  'tention  to  wolves.  They  don 't  know 
they're  there  till  they  git  sorter  hungry-like  an'  want 
to  eat  a  few  of  'em.  When  I  first  seen  this  'ere  coat 
I  thought  it  was  a  lion. ' ' 

"  You're  a  liar,"  Calvin  cried,  and  struck  him.  And 
Pete  landed  a  fist  on  Calvin's  nose  and  seized  him  to 
throw  him  down.  Just  at  this  moment  the  nurse's  police 
man  ran  into  the  alley  and  seizing  Pete,  was  dragging 


CHUCKLED  OVER  IT  219 

him  away,  when  Calvin  cried  out:  "  You  let  him  alone. 
He  didn't  do  anything." 

"  He  didn't,  eh?     Didn't  he  hit  you  on  the  nose? 
Come  on  here,  you  beastly  ruffian,  you." 
"  No,  he  didn't  hit  me." 
' '  Then  what  made  your  nose  bleed  ?  ' ' 
"  I  fell  down,"  said  Calvin.    "  Turn  him  loose." 
"  Huh,  then  what  made  him  grab  you?  " 
"  He  took  hold  of  me  to  wipe  oif  the  blood.     Turn 
him  loose." 

The  policeman  released  Pete.  Calvin  had  aroused  the 
admiration  of  his  Celtic  nature.  "  Young  laddiebuck," 
he  said,  "  you're  as  true  a  piece  of  grit  as  I  ever  saw, 
and  a  month's  salary  against  a  tin  whistle  your  people 
came  from  the  Old  Sod."  With  this  he  walked  off, 
swinging  his  club. 

Calvin  had  no  handkerchief,  and  Pete  tore  his  own 
shirt  to  wipe  away  the  blood.     "  Some  folks  say  lion 
skins  are  better 'n  wolf,  but  they  ain't,"  he  said.  "  Oh, 
a  lion  may  whip  a  wolf.    It's  a  lion's  business  to  fight. 
It's  a  wolf's  business  to  furnish  coats.    An'  this  is  the 
puttiest  one  I  ever  seen.    Does  it  hurt  much?  " 
"  No.     I  —  I  think  it  would  'a'  bled  anyway." 
"  I  'm  awful  sorry,  Cal.    Do  you  know  what  I  've  got  ? 
A  policeman's  club,  an'  I  only  play  with  it  on  Sunday. 
But  I'm  goin'  to  give  it  to  you." 

"  No,  you  keep  it  till  you  die  and  then  you  can  leave 
it  to  me.  Do  you  like  me,  Pete?  " 

' '  Like  you,  why  I  'd  fight  my  sister  for  you.     I  —  ' 
But  Pete  wheeled  about  and  took  to  his  nimble  heels. 
The  nurse  had  pounced  upon  Calvin. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
BUT  GOD  SAID  THERE  WAS  A  DEVIL 

The  incident  of  the  alley,  virtue  shining  through  false 
hood,  was  as  important  to  old  Calvin  when  from  the 
policeman  he  heard  of  it,  as  any  piece  of  news  that 
had  come  to  him  within  a  month.  When  the  youngster 
drew  on  him  for  money  to  meet  the  grocer  boy's  levy, 
the  old  man  said : 

"  Ah,  I  guess  this  must  be  for  the  Sunday  school." 

He  shot  a  shrewd  glance  into  the  eye  of  the  youngster 
and  waited.  The  boy  shook  his  head. 

"  Oh,  for  the  Orphan's  Home,  then?  " 

The  boy's  ringlets  danced  about  his  brow. 

"  Then  what's  it  for?  Truth  now.  Always  truth 
with  me,  understand.  Truth,  Calvin." 

Calvin  told  the  story.  The  old  man  frowned.  "  Scared 
you  with  the  devil,  eh?  Haven't  I  told  you  there  isn't 
any  devil?  " 

"  Yes,  gran 'pa,  but  you  said  there  was  a  God  and 
God  said  there  was  a  devil." 

"  Eh?  But  God  didn't  mean  it  as  —  as  they  would 
have  you  think.  They  slandered  God.  You  believe  me. 
There  is  no  devil  and  no  hell." 

They  were  in  the  library,  and  though  they  had  not 
perceived  her,  Harriet  was  standing  near.  Now  she 
came  forward,  her  countenance  aghast.  "  Father, 
father,  how  can  you  say  such  things  to  him!  Calvin, 
you  believe  as  I  tell  you.  Remember  I  am  your  mother, 
and  nearly  every  great  man  has  declared  that  his  moth- 

220 


GOD  SAID  THERE  WAS  A  DEVIL         221 

er's  religion  was  good  enough  for  him.  There  is  both  a 
God  and  a  devil,  Calvin." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  old  man.  She  did  not.  To  sit 
down  would  have  meant  to  reason.  Standing,  she  had 
delivered  a  decision  from  which  appeal  would  be  futile. 
But  she  waited.  "  Good,"  said  old  Calvin,  the  boy 
standing  between  his  knees.  "  But  if  every  man  had 
always  found  his  mother's  religion  good  enough  for  him, 
every  man  would  still  be  worshipping  a  mud  god." 

"  Well  I  don't  care  whether  that's  true  or  not,"  she 
declared,  "  but  I  do  know  that  it  is  necessary  for  chil 
dren  to  believe  in  the  devil.  Dr.  Henshaw  says  a  belief 
in  the  devil  is  essential  for  most  people;  otherwise  we'd 
have  anarchy." 

"  Hum!  Then  society  is  more  indebted  to  the  devil 
than  to  God.  Calvin,  you  take  this  fifty-cent  piece  and 
give  it  to  the  boy,  and  you  tell  him  you  give  it  not 
because  you  are  afraid  of  the  devil,  but  because  you 
are  afraid  to  deceive  yourself  by  not  keeping  your 
word. ' ' 

Harriet  protested.  "  He  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to 
give  it  to  him.  He  is  simply  paying  a  scoundrel  for  being 
a  scoundrel." 

The  old  man  laughed.  "  Well,  but  don't  we  educate 
men  and  then  pay  'em  for  scaring  us  with  the  devil? 
Calvin  you  pay  that  boy  and  thank  him  for  the  confi 
dence  he  had  in  you,  and  tell  him  that  when  you  get 
big  enough  you'll  thrash  him;  and  mind  that  you  keep 
your  word  with  him  in  that,  too." 

That  some  ill  luck  must  fall  upon  such  irreverence, 
the  boy's  mother  knew  full  well.  Her  religion  was  the 
belief  that  the  narrowest  interpretation  of  the  Book 
would  bring  prosperity.  Her  father  was  devout,  and 
had  he  not  been  able  to  feed  great  multitudes,  not  indeed 


222  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

with  loaves,  but  with  fishes?  At  Dan's  wife  and  her 
belief,  Rose  was  pagan  enough  to  smile.  But  as  a  final 
play,  Harriet  had  a  card  to  trump  Miss  Rose  the  pagan, 
a  scheme  to  bead  the  old  man's  brow  with  the  sweat 
of  fear.  This  play  was  the  stronger  because  it  was 
made  but  rarely:  "  I  will  take  my  child  and  live 
apart  from  you."  This  made  old  Calvin  play  hypo 
crite  to  her  views.  With  it  she  could  have  led  him  to 
the  mourners '  bench ;  and  salting  the  slab  with  his  eyes, 
he  would  have  swallowed  Jonah  and  the  whale.  At 
times  the  poor  old  tyrant  was  an  abject  slave.  He  did 
not  know  that  with  a  few  words  he  could  have  iced  Har 
riet's  blood.  But  Rose  knew  it,  and  one  morning  at 
early  breakfast  she  said  to  him: 

"  Tell  her  to  take  him." 

"  Merciful  Lord,   no." 

"  And  that  you'll  cut  the  cloth  of  your  will  accord 
ingly." 

"  Eh?  Do  you  think  so?  Would  that  fetch  her?  " 

"  To  her  knees.  I  know.  She  used  to  scare  me,  on 
your  account,  but  I  gave  her  a  hint  yesterday  and  she 
turned  pale." 

"  Ah,  I'll  send  for  her  at  once." 

"Oh,  no,  let  it  come  about  naturally." 

"  Yes.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better.  Why  didn't  I 
think  of  it?  I  must  be  losing  my  shrewdness.  Can 
it  be  that  age  is  turning  my  edge?  " 

She  laughed,  reached  over  and  pressed  his  hand, 
unconscious  of  age,  iron  in  strength.  ' '  No,  it  was  because 
it  was  not  in  your  heart  to  threaten  Calvin 's  inheritance 
even  though  you  didn't  mean  it." 

"  You  are  right,"  he  agreed.  "  Yes.  Affection  while 
it  makes  us  think,  keeps  us  also  from  thinking.  But  I 
will  threaten.  I  won't  let  her  dwarf  his  soul.  His  mind 


GOD  SAID  THERE  WAS  A  DEVIL         223 

must  be  free.  Ha,  a  new  advantage.  It  does  me  good." 
He  laughed. 

"  How  is  the  Missouri  strike?  "  she  inquired.  "  The 
dispatches  don 't  tell  much. ' ' 

"  About  the  same,"  he  answered.  "  Continuous 
threat,  with  serious  trouble  likely  at  any  moment.  I 
am  going  to  send  Howerson  out  there.  Oh,  I  haven't 
told  you  about  his  Louisiana  transactions.  Well,  he 
bought  the  sugar  plantation  for  fifteen  thousand  dollars 
less  than  I  had  agreed  to  pay  —  found  that  the  heir  of 
the  estate  was  in  need  of  ready  money  and  discovered 
a  strip  of  marsh  that  lowered  the  valuation.  The  old 
house,  he  says  in  his  letter,  is  beautiful,  French  chateau, 
decorated  in  1840  by  artists  from  Paris.  His  letter  made 
me  proud  that  I  owned  it.  When  I  was  a  boy,  to  own 
a  sugar  plantation  was  to  be  a  king.  .  .  .  But  there 
came  a  telegraphic  night  letter.  Here  it  is. ' '  He  read : 
"  'Have  offer  of  seventy-five  thousand  above  purchase 
price.  To  make  plantation  yield  profit  must  be  on 
ground.  Not  desirable  as  nonresident  investment. 
Experience  required.  Shall  I  sell?  '  Ha,  I  telegraphed 
him  to  sell.  He  did  so,  turning  the  strip  of  marsh  land 
to  our  advantage  —  showed  that  tiling  would  reclaim  it, 
and  being  virgin  soil,  render  it  the  most  fertile  field  in 
the  entire  tract.  Wish  I  'd  brought  his  letters  home  with 
me.  You  know  he  said  he  had  received  no  business 
training.  Hum!  But  his  letters  prove  his  statement 
too  modest.  The  most  concise  and  expressive  bits  of 
writing  I  ever  saw.  Thoroughly  business-like." 

"  But  speaking  of  business  letters,"  she  said,  "  do 
you  think  that  as  a  rule  they  are  models  of  conciseness 
and  expression?  Business  dictates  its  letters  and  busi 
ness  likes  to  hear  the  sound  of  its  own  voice,  loves  adjec 
tives.  '  Eeplying  to  your  favor  of  the  tenth  instant,  we 


224  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

beg  to  state.'  They  never  '  say  '  a  thing.  They  always 
'  state  '  — '  beg  to  state.'  Perhaps  Mr.  Howerson's  let 
ters  were  so  simple  as  to  be  literary." 

"  Maybe  so,"  the  old  man  smiled.  "  I'll  let  him  put 
some  of  his  '  literary  '  down  on  that  strike." 

His  first  attention  to  business  that  day  was  to  send 
a  telegram  to  Howerson.  Then  he  closed  a  transaction 
for  the  immediate  establishment  of  a  barbed  wire  mill 
at  Glenwich. 

In  a  lull  Jim  came  in  with  the  card  of  "  the  Rev. 
Andrew  Von  Veigel. " 

"  "What  about  him?  I  don't  know  him.  Beggar,  of 
course. ' ' 

"  He  may  be,  sir,"  said  Jim.  "  But  he  says  he's  Mr. 
Howerson's  uncle." 

"  That  so?     Let  him  come  in." 

Whateley  looked  down  on  a  parchment  spread  on  his 
desk,  and  then  looking  up  he  met  the  quiet  and  specu 
lative  eyes  of  Professor  Hudsic.  Old  Calvin  swiftly  meas 
ured  him,  gathering  in  one  quick  glance  his  long  black 
coat,  and  the  silk  hat  held  deferentially  in  his  right 
hand.  Whateley  motioned  toward  a  chair,  bade  him 
sit  down. 

"  So  you  are  Mr.  Howerson's  uncle." 

"  Yes,  may  it  please  you,  sir.  Years  ago,  in  Japan, 
I  met  Miss  —  ah  —  Clarissa  Howerson,  sister  of  George 
Howerson's  father.  She  was  in  missionary  work;  so 
was  I.  Our  interests  drew  us  together  and  we  were 
married. ' ' 

"  I  see,"  said  old  Calvin,  sniffing  faintly  a  suspicious 
rat.  "  And  she's  dead  now,  eh?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  the  dear  soul  has  just  arrived  with  me  from 
abroad,  and  we  wish  to  give  George  a  surprise." 

As  old  Calvin  looked  at  him  and  listened  to  him,  he 


GOD  SAID  THERE  WAS  A  DEVIL         225 

mused,  "  This  fellow  may  in  some  way  be  connected 
with  that  strike."  The  professor  smiled. 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  said  old  Calvin.  "  How  did 
you  know  he  was  connected  with  my  establishment,  if 
you  have  just  arrived?  " 

"  Hah,  yes,  a  pertinent  question,  Mr.  Whateley,  and 
one  which  you  ask  naturally.  We  —  er  —  my  wife  and 
I  stopped  at  Glenwich,  having  property  interests  in  that 
place,  and  learned  there  that  he  was  in  your  employ. 
And  now,  sir,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  where 
we  may  find  him?  " 

"  He  is  not  in  town.  Is  there  anything  else  you  wish 
to  see  me  about?  " 

The  professor  coughed.  "  Of  course  it  does  not  mean 
much  to  you,  with  so  many  things  on  your  mind,  but 
to  his  aunt  and  to  me  it  is  a  matter  of  sentimental 
moment.  Therefore,  would  you  mind  informing  me  as 
to  what  part  of  the  country  he  is  in  at  present  and  as 
to  when  you  expect  him  to  return?  " 

If  men  could  not  look  truth  when  they  lie  there  would 
be  no  business  and  no  treaties  among  nations.  Old  Cal 
vin  looked  truth  and  said : ' '  He  has  gone  to  South  Amer 
ica  to  look  after  a  rubber  plantation,  and  I  don't  know 
as  to  when  I  may  recall  him.  Good  day." 

The  professor  rose,  lingering  for  a  moment,  rubbing 
his  hat  with  his  elbow.  "  I  take  my  leave,  sir,"  he 
said. 

Not  far  away,  at  the  opening  of  an  alley,  a  woman 
waited,  and  when  the  professor  came  along  she  stepped 
forth  eagerly  to  join  him.  With  a  look  he  enjoined  her 
not  to  speak,  and  in  silence  they  walked  a  long  distance, 
crossed  over  the  river  and  entered  a  small  restaurant 
through  a  grimy  doorway  leading  to  grimy  tables. 
Here  they  sat  down.  Before  speaking  she  took  off  her 


226  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

hat  and  gloves  and  put  them  on  a  chair  beside  her,  Hud- 
sic  sitting  opposite.  Then  she  said,  "  Well?  " 

"  Let  us  order  a  bite  to  eat,  first,"  he  replied;  and 
when  the  waiter  had  served  them  with  spaghetti,  she 
leaned  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  looked  hard  into  the 
eyes  of  her  companion.  "  Well,  where  is  he?  " 

"  In  South  America." 

"  Hudsic,  what  a  poor,  miserable  old  fool  you  are. 
He  lied  to  you." 

"I  wonder  if  he  did." 

' '  Wonder !  Of  course  you  do.  You  Ve  got  just  about 
sense  enough.  You  bungled.  He  suspected  something 
and  lied  you  out  of  the  house.  How  did  you  do  it  ?  " 

"As  we  agreed  upon.  But  what  cause  have  you  to 
believe  he  lied?  " 

"Your  face." 

Hudsic  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at  her.  She 
wormed  spaghetti  about  a  fork  and  dismissed  him  from 
her  mind.  He  pondered,  sitting  back,  pulling  at  his 
beard.  "  Yes,  I  must  have  failed,"  he  sighed. 

"  This  is  very  good  spaghetti,"  she  said.  "  It  was 
not  made  by  weaklings  but  by  people  that  know  how  to 
achieve.  When  they  decide  a  man  must  die,  he  dies. 
The  law  frowns  but  the  man  is  dead.  But  we,  better 
educated  and  deeply  read  in  the  great  book  of  justice  — • 
we  fail.  Why  do  you  not  eat?  Do  you  not  like  spa 
ghetti?  " 

"  Annie,  have  some  little  consideration.  I  failed,  yes; 
but  often  men  have  failed.  Annie,  you  don't  know  that 
old  timber  wolf's  eye." 

"  And  with  it  he  tricked  your  countenance.  You  let 
him  blister  your  face  and  draw  out  the  inflammation. 
What  did  you  say?  But  no  matter  what  you  said.  It 
was  what  you  looked." 


GOD  SAID  THERE  WAS  A  DEVIL         227 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  go  as  his  sister?  " 

"  Now  you  drivel.  I  go  —  I  the  photograph  in  the 
family  album  of  their  fear?  " 

"  True  enough.  They  know  you.  But  why  didn't 
you  agree  to  let  me  kill  him?  I  could  have  done  it." 

She  dropped  her  fork,  tossed  back  her  head  and 
laughed. 

"  You  kill  him!  Hudsic  you  could  not  have  touched 
him  with  your  little  finger. ' ' 

He  glowered  upon  her.  "  Who  killed  Tovowsky  in 
Moscow?  " 

She  softened  toward  him ;  with  a  purr  she  catted  her 
graces  at  him.  "  Yes,  Hudsic,  I  know.  Forgive  me, 
please.  But  Whateley  must  live  till  the  traitor  is  dead. 
And  if  he  is  not  here  now,  he  will  be  before  long. ' ' 

"  Why  do  you  think  so?  " 

"  Because  by  this  time  the  fool  is  caught." 

"  I  don't  understand.    Caught?  " 

"  He  is  in  love." 

"Ah!  But  how  do  you  know  that?  " 

"  Because  I  have  seen  her  —  the  Whateley  woman. 
That  will  make  his  death  more  bitter  to  him  and  sweeter 
to  us.  He  will  be  found  hanging  —  suicide  —  with  his 
confession  in  his  pocket.  It  will  be  written  by  Henk, 
the  wondrous  scribe.  We  will  watch  for  him,  kidnap 
him.  We  will  taunt  him  with  Cupid.  It  will  all  be 
worked  out.  I  snatched  him  from  death.  Now  I  demand 
back  my  present  —  his  life.  Ah,  now  your  appetite 
returns  to  you.  This  spaghetti  is  delicious." 


CHAPTER  XX. 
A  LITTLE  PLAY 

It  was  late  in  the  night  when  Howerson  arrived  at 
the  mining  town.  Up  and  down  the  station  platform  a 
soldier  strode.  The  bayonets  of  the  militia  had  come  to 
gleam  for  the  law  an  interpretive  and  persuasive  light. 
In  an  old  bus  that  threatened  to  shake  apart  its  gouty 
joints,  the  envoy  of  peace  was  hauled  up  to  the  Waldorf 
Hotel,  late  the  Commercial  House,  wherein  was  quar 
tered  the  superintendent  of  the  mines,  John  Wherry,  at 
this  hour  asleep.  The  night  clerk,  a  poor,  old  down- 
and-outer  who  papped  and  coddled  his  job,  said  that 
Mr.  Wherry  could  not  be  seen  before  morning. 

"  What  medicine  has  he  taken  to  render  him  invisi 
ble?  " 

The  clerk  begged  pardon.  He  had  not  quite  caught 
the  gentleman's  meaning.  Would  he  come  again?  He 
did. 

"  Here,  take  this  card,  wake  Mr.  Sleeper  and  give 
it  to  him.  He  will  understand." 

"  That  may  be,  sir,  but  I  don't." 

"  Perhaps  not.  And  I  don't  know  that  it's  essential 
you  should.  If  you  don't  let  him  know  that  I'm  here 
he  will  go  out  of  your  hotel  to-morrow  morning  and 
not  come  back." 

The  clerk  reflected,  suckled  his  job,  yielded,  and  up  the 
stairs  complained  his  way.  He  came  down  faster.  Mr. 
Wherry  would  see  the  gentleman. 

The  superintendent  was  so  enormously  fat  that  when 

228 


A  LITTLE  PLAY  229 

lie  got  out  of  bed  he  appeared  to  take  up  the  remaining 
space  of  his  room.  After  a  few  moments'  talk  with 
him  it  was  found  that  he  was  no  more  inclined  toward 
pleasantry  than  a  hippopotamus  is  disposed  to  caper  to 
a  rag-time  melody;  and  a  fat  man  who  has  not  jollity 
is  an  adipose  hypocrite. 

"  A  very  serious  business,  Mr.  Howerson,"  said 
Wherry,  crushing  his  bed  on  which  he  now  sat. 
"  Exceedingly  serious,"  he  added,  giving  to  his  night 
shirt  a  dangerous  strain. 

' '  Yes, ' '  Howerson  agreed,  ' '  and  'so  is  a  musical  com 
edy.  And  what  makes  the  tuneless  comedy  so  serious? 
The  comedian.  What  adds  to  the  seriousness  of  the 
comedy  here  ?  The  broad  landscape  of  your  melancholy 
countenance.  Turn  up  your  light,  brighten.  Laugh,  and 
then  the  men  will  see  that  it  is  more  serious  with  them 
than  with  you." 

' '  Laugh !  My  Lord,  man,  the  militia  is  on  the  ground. 
Laugh,  when  there  are  new  graves  out  on  the  hill? 
Laugh  when  I  hear  the  soldiers  cocking  their  guns?  " 

"  That's  pretty  good,  Mr.  Wherry.  You've  got  in 
you  the  poetry  of  despair.  Not  the  best  poetry  but 
better  than  none  at  all,  perhaps.  Now  as  to  the  tenants 
of  those  new  graves:  Were  they  married  men?  " 

"  Fortunately  not." 

"  Then  laugh  because  they  were  fortunate." 

"  Mr.  Howerson,  my  information  from  Mr.  Whateley 
is  that  you  are  to  act  on  your  own  judgment,  but  in 
all  due  respect  to  you  and  to  Mr.  Whateley 's  apparent 
confidence  in  you,  I  must  say  your  judgment  is  peculiar, 
waking  a  man  at  one  in  the  morning  and  commanding 
him  to  laugh." 

"  Better  than  to  wake  him  at  half  past  twelve  and 
command  him  to  weep.  As  you  are  now  wide  awake, 


230'  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

I'll  rehearse  with  you  a  little  play  I  have  constructed." 

"Play!  " 

"  A  comedy.  But  please  don't  interrupt  me.  Busi 
ness,  like  fiction,  is  a  plot,  a  story.  The  characters  in 
our  story  are  involved.  We  must  straighten  them  out. 
A  happy  phrase,  an  epigram,  may  save  us." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  fat  man,  the  unbol- 
stered  tallow  of  his  jaws  hanging  low,  ' '  but  did  you  con 
sult  personally  with  Mr.  Whateley  just  before  you  came 
away,  and  are  you  yourself  quite  certain  you're  in  your 
right  mind.  Business  —  ' ' 

Howerson  broke  in  upon  him.  With  honed,  stropped 
and  edge-tried  keenness  he  enjoyed  this  absurd  drama  in 
the  blinking  morn.  "  Business  I  tell  you  is  a  plot  and 
when  in  its  right  mind  loses  sauce  as  poetry  loses  Attic 
salt." 

Much  flesh  regards  itself  as  sane.  The  fat  man  now 
was  convinced  of  Howerson 's  insanity;  yet  it  might  be 
wise  for  a  short  time  to  humor  a  ridiculous  fancy. 
' '  All  right,  then,  Mr.  Howerson.  Draw  your  plot. ' ' 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  must  first  ask  a  few  questions. 
Is  Codowsky,  the  trouble-maker,  still  here?  " 

"  Yes,  the  scoundrel,  and  but  for  him  the  men  would 
return  to  work  willingly  enough.  Half  of  them  are 
anxious  to  return.  But  the  other  half,  the  Codowsky 
half,  want  trouble." 

"  I  understand  that  you  pay  a  little  more  than  the 
union  scale." 

"  Yes.  The  question  of  wages  doesn't  enter  into  the 
discussion." 

' '  All  right.  Along  about  noon  I  '11  meet  the  leaders  of 
the  two  factions,  not  as  a  Whateley  representative  but 
as  an  agent  from  a  Pennsylvania  company  that  will  buy 
the  mines  in  case  I  can  induce  the  men  to  go  back  to 


A  LITTLE  PLAY  231 

work.  I  will  agree  for  my  company  to  reinstate  Codow- 
sky,  but  will  cut  down  wages  to  the  union  scale.  About 
this  time  you  are  announced.  I  insist  on  your  coming 
in.  You  are  made  acquainted  with  my  proposition.  You 
haven't  much  to  say;  you  are  sullen.  But  you  don't 
see  why  the  Pennsylvania  company  should  cut  down  the 
scale.  It  would  be  unfair  to  the  men.  I  remind  you 
that  we  should  be  meeting  all  the  demands  of  the  union. 

"  Just  about  now  a  boy  arrives  with  a  note  for  you. 
You  read  it  and  change  countenance  —  if  you  can.  Then 
you  read  the  note  aloud.  It  says :  '  To  My  Friends :  I 
acknowledge  that  I  was  neglecting  my  duties.  They 
were  right  in  discharging  me.  I  am  no  longer  interested 
in  the  outcome  here.  I  am  off  for  other  parts. '  Signed, 
*  Codowsky. '  Do  you  catch  it?  The  men  would  rather 
work  under  the  old  scale.  With  drum  and  fife  the  state 's 
soldiers  march  down  to  the  train.  "Women  rejoice  over 
back  fences  and  children  sing  in  the  street.  The  strike 
is  settled." 

Howerson  waited.  The  superintendent  mused  for  a 
time  and  then  said :  ' '  Yes,  fine  plot,  if  it  could  be  car 
ried  out. ' ' 

"  Ah,  therein  always  arises  a  question.  Over  all  the 
plots  in  history  men  have  wondered;  but  if  they  had 
done  nothing  but  wonder,  the  plots  would  have  failed. 
I  think  this  one  can  be  carried  out.  Let's  rehearse  it 
again." 

After  rehearsing  more  than  thrice  the  brief  play,  this 
mime  to  rough  it  with  a  ruffian  and  then  to  make  all 
things  smooth,  Howerson  measured  off  by  alarm  clock 
three  hours  of  sleep.  He  arose  while  yet  the  bell  was 
ringing  and  went  forth  to  familiarize  himself  with  exits, 
entrances,  and  to  induce  the  engagement  of  Codowsky, 
the  "heavy."  Often  in  business  life  but  rarely  on 


232  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

the  stage  is  the  ' '  heavy  ' '  a  family  man.  But  more  rarely 
is  the  stirrer-up  of  labor  strife  a  man  whose  heart  has 
formed  a  home  and  for  whom,  in  gathering  dusk,  soft 
eyes  look  tenderly.  Codowsky  was  found  at  his  boarding 
house,  in  a  room  where  the  smell  of  stale  liquor  searched 
nook  and  corner  to  throttle  the  air.  Howerson,  assum 
ing  a  privilege,  raised  a  window.  Codowsky,  who  with 
no  welcome  in  his  voice  had  bade  him  enter,  looked  on 
with  a  frown.  But  he  could  speak  English,  and  this 
was  an  encouragement,  exposing  his  mind  to  persuasion 
and  attack. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  getting  tired  of  this  place  and 
are  about  ready  to  leave  here." 

"  Naw,"  said  Codowsky.     "  Who  says  I  tired?  " 

"  No  one,  but  I  thought  you  must  be,  since  no  good 
to  yourself  nor  to  anyone  else  can  come  from  your  stay 
ing  here.  Have  you  thought  of  it  in  that  way?  " 

The  trouble-maker  shook  his  brutish  head,  and  upon 
the  questioner's  countenance  fixed  his  rusty  eyes  in 
sullen  gaze.  The  Poet  smiled  as  if  encouraging  a 
maiden's  timid  glance.  Codowsky  blinked,  and  the  Poet 
fancied  that  he  could  hear  his  eyes  grating  in  their 
rust. 

"  What  you  come  for?  "  Codowsky  asked. 

' '  To  talk  with  you  —  to  tell  you  something. ' '  Hower 
son  looked  at  his  watch.  "To  tell  you  that  a  train  will 
leave  here  within  forty-eight  minutes." 

Codowsky  snarled,  like  a  dog  who,  gathering  up  his 
anger,  raises  his  bristles  and  his  lip.  "  What  is  that 
to  me?  I  stay  here.  You  go  out  now." 

"  Yes,  in  a  few  minutes.  But  what  I  have  to  say 
might  interest  you.  The  soldiers  have  to  stay  until  the 
strike  is  settled.  They  have  orders  to  shoot.  They  will. 
About  half  of  the  men  are  against  you.  When  the 


A  LITTLE  PLAY  233 

shooting  begins,  guns  will  be  aimed  at  you.  That  does 
not  scare  you.  You  are  brave.  But  mark  this:  The 
owner  of  the  mines  will  never  take  you  back.  The  state 
and  the  soldiers  will  stand  behind  him.  Who  am  I?  A 
lover  of  truth.  How  do  I  treat  truth  ?  I  give  it  money. 
I  would  give  no  man  a  penny  to  tell  a  lie,  but  I  pay  him 
to  tell  truth.  We  have  not  much  time  to  lose.  You 
sign  this  and  I  will  give  you  two  hundred  dollars  and 
go  with  you  to  the  train.  Let  me  read  it  to  you." 

Howerson  read  the  words  outlined  in  rehearsal  with 
Wherry.  Codowsky  leaned  over,  resting  his  arms  on  a 
table.  Howerson  looked  at  his  watch,  said  that  the  offer 
would  hold  good  for  ten  minutes,  no  longer. 

"  Within  a  few  days  you  will  be  forced  to  go  with 
no  pay  for  telling  truth."  He  counted  out  ten  twenty- 
dollar  gold  pieces.  The  light  fell  upon  them.  He  took 
out  a  fountain  pen,  tried  it  on  his  thumb  nail.  The 
paper  lay  beside  the  gold.  He  touched  Codowsky 's  hand 
with  the  pen. 

"  Ah,  I  see.    You  can't  sign  your  name. 

11  lean." 

"  Good.  Five  minutes.  Gold  for  truth.  Then,  lib 
erty." 

"  I  hate  them  all,"  Codowsky  growled.  "  They  care 
if  I  starve  ?  No.  I  sign. ' ' 

Howerson  hastened  with  him  to  the  station,  saw  him 
buy  a  ticket  for  St.  Louis.  "  With  all  the  trickery  of 
the  stage,"  the  actor  mused  as  he  got  into  the  old  bus 
to  be  shaken  back  up  town.  ' '  The  holding  of  the  watch 
on  him,  tempting  him  to  it  with  the  glow  of  gold  — 
all  as  ancient  as  a  tallow  dip." 

As  representative  of  the  Pennsylvania  company,  How 
erson  had  communicated  with  the  heads  of  the  Depart 
ment  of  Antagonism,  requesting  a  meeting,  noontime,  in 


234  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

the  "  parlors  of  the  Waldorf."  On  arriving  at  the 
hotel,  the  day  clerk,  as  young  and  impertinent  as  the 
night  clerk  was  old  and  deferential,  informed  him  that 
four  of  "  them  mining  guys  "  were  waiting,  "  in  there  " 
he  directed,  pointing.  Howerson  inclosed  a  slip  of  paper 
in  an  envelope  already  addressed,  and  handed  it  to  the 
clerk. 

"Mr.  Wherry  is  coming  pretty  soon.  Pay  attention 
to  what  I  am  saying.    You  take  this  envelope  —  ' ' 
"  I'll  give  it  to  him  as  soon  as  he  comes  in." 
"  Now  that's  exactly  what  I  don't  want  you  to  do.  I 
told  you  to  pay  attention.    Wherry  will  be  here  pretty 
soon.    Say  nothing  to  him  about  the  envelope,  but  when 
he  has  been  in  yonder  fifteen  minutes  —  get  that?  — 
fifteen  minutes  —  bring  it  in  to  him.    It  will  be  worth 
a  dollar  to  you." 

11  Now  he  understood.  The  young  American  when 
finally  he  decides  to  put  his  mind  on  a  thing,  masters  it. 
In  the  parlor  about  a  round  table  four  men  were  sit 
ting,  in  silence.  When  Howerson  entered  they  got  up  heav 
ily  from  frail  chairs.  He  shook  hands  with  them  and  they 
sat  down  again,  depositing  their  heaviness  carefully.  One 
chair  cried  out  in  warning  creak,  and  the  heaviest  of 
the  men,  black  with  whiskers,  flinched,  arose  and  sat 
down  on  a  sofa.  His  spirit  seemed  to  be  the  persuasive 
if  not  the  dominant  force,  and  to  him  Howerson  ad 
dressed  himself.  Yes,  he  was  ready  to  work  for  the  new 
company  or  for  any  company.  Home,  children  —  love 
had  made  him  humble,  and  in  him  the  Poet  found  a 
soul.  To  something  that  was  said,  something  in  which 
there  was  heart  and  tenderness,  objection  was  raised  by 
one  of  the  men  at  the  table,  the  champion  of  Codowsky. 
He  cared  not  a  snap  for  love,  he  said.  What  he  wanted 
was  justice.  No  children,  no  wife,  he  was  a  free  man. 


A  LITTLE  PLAY  235 

Must  the  world  cease  to  move  on  toward  liberty  because 
some  men  were  fathers?  If  marriage  stood  in  the  way 
of  the  ultimate  brotherhood  of  man,  abolish  it. 

Without  the  education  of  heart  the  mind  may  be 
shrewd  and  strong;  but  it  can  never  be  deep.  This 
fellow  had  all  the  set-pieces  of  controversy,  and  the  Poet 
smiled  as  he  mused,  "I'm  glad  my  disposition  of  you 
does  not  depend  on  argument." 

The  frail  walls  began  to  tremble.  The  plaster  diver 
standing  on  the  mantelpiece,  slim  maiden  in  light 
sweater,  threatened -to  jump  off.  Wherry  had  come.  The 
men  nodded  to  him  as  he  sat  down,  cracking  the  back 
bone  of  a  settee.  In  more  than  one  conference  the  men 
had  met  him  and  from  him  had  nothing  to  expect.  On 
clock-timed  cue  the  clerk  entered  with  the  necessary 
paper,  and  with  a  jerk  of  fat  intended  for  a  start,  Wherry 
rolled  his  eye  upon  it.  Then  he  read  the  will  and  testa 
ment  of  Codowski.  His  champion,  he  of  the  brother 
hood  of  man,  burst  out  in  blasphemous  bellow.  To  him, 
the  Poet,  shaking  sadly  the  head  of  grave  disappoint 
ment,  declared: 

"  Whoever  may  win  by  Codowsky's  treachery,  the 
new  company  appears  to  lose.  For,  as  I  said,  we  will 
pay  the  union  scale  and  no  more.  Gentlemen,  your  dif 
ferences  appear  to  have  been  settled." 

They  were  settled.  Word  flew  forth  that  on  the  mor 
row  all  work  would  be  resumed. 

Howerson  went  up  to  Wherry's  room.  "I  think  I  can 
safely  say  you  are  about  the  most  peculiar  man  I  ever 
met,"  said  the  superintendent. 

"  Yes,  but  you  must  remember  that  the  stage  has 
eccentric  license  and  that  we  have  just  played  a  play. 
If  you  came  from  a  theater  where  you  had  seen  a  farce 
you  wouldn't  worry  much  over  the  plot." 


236  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Well,  I  might  if  I  knew  that  the  plot  had  been 
copied  from  actual  life." 

V"  All  plots  are  caught  from  life,  sometimes  direct  from 
the  object,  often  as  if  reflected  from  a  mirror  transported 
in  a  May-day  moving  van.  Cease  to  marvel  at  anything. 
Nature  pays  as  much  attention  to  the  construction,  life 
and  character  of  a  gnat  as  of  an  elephant;  and  the 
swallowing  of  a  frog  by  a  bass  means  just  as  much  to 
Nature  as  the  destruction  of  Napoleon 's  army  in  Russia. ' ' 

. "  Atheist,"  muttered  the  fat  man. 

The  Poet  caught  the  word.  "  Ah,  and  when  you  fall 
downstairs  you  don't  make  any  more  noise  in  the  ear 
of  the  Lord  than  the  soft  and  feathery  pat  of  the  spar 
row  that  falls  from  the  telegraph  wire." 

"  Now  look  here,  Mr.  Howerson,  I  have  seen  from 
the  first  that  you  don't  like  me.  You  josh  me  and  you 
make  a  joke  of  life,  of  business,  in  fact  you  seem  to  be 
stage  struck." 

"  Very  good.  You  added  strength  by  adding  '  busi 
ness.'  Business  first,  then  comes  life,  if  it  can.  Out 
of  a  sort  of  moody  and  humorous  fellowship  I  might 
possibly  '  josh  '  you,  but  I  could  never  deprave  myself 
so  far  as  to  make  a  joke  of  business,  the  sacred  Ox." 

' '  Mr.  Howerson,  your  peculiar  settlement  of  this  strike 
hasn't  convinced  me  that  you're  in  your  right  mind." 

"  Well,  I  haven't  set  up  any  exaggerated  claim.  Let 
me  see.  I  can 't  get  out  of  your  beautiful  city  until  four 
to-morrow  morning.  What  to  do  between  now  and 
bedtime  is  more  serious  to  me  than  the  sacred  Ox.  I 
didn't  happen  to  bring  any  books  with  me.  By  the 
way,  has  Father  Carnegie  bestowed  one  of  his  benedic 
tions  upon  this  town?  What,  you  don't  understand? 
I'm  sorry  you  couldn't  have  given  that  countenance 
to  the  reading  of  Codowsky's  note.  It  might  not  have 


A  LITTLE  PLAY  237 

added  to  the  result  but  surely  it  would  have  enhanced 
art." 

"  Look  here,"  fumed  the  superintendent;  "  I  want 
you  to  understand  I  won't  be  made  a  butt  for  any  man. 
And  I  want  you  to  know,  too,  that  Mr.  Whateley  will 
get  a  very  decided  report  from  me." 

"  I  hope  you  do  send  a  careful  statement  to  Mr.  Whate 
ley,  and  if  it  be  a  true  one,  it  might  relieve  you  of  all 
future  anxiety  concerning  these  mines.  I'm  not  threat 
ening  you,  but  in  truth  you  are  not  a  master  but  an 
antagonizer  of  men.  I  notice  that  you  pass  them  in 
the  street  as  if  they  were  cattle.  I  see  that  the  children 
fall  back  from  you.  I  felt  this  the  moment  I  saw  you, 
and  then  I  had  but  to  observe  to  see  the  impression  con 
firmed.  You  may  not  have  been  the  direct  cause  of 
the  strike  but  I  believe  you  could  have  prevented  it. 
Above  all,  you  could  have  shown  those  men  and  their 
wives  and  their  children  that  you  had  a  heart,  granting 
to  you  such  a  possession.  I  am  here  in  Mr.  Whateley 's 
interest.  I  don 't  believe  you  are.  Good  day. ' ' 

Howerson  did  not  wait  for  a  reply.  He  went  out 
to  look  for  a  friend,  a  book.  Mr.  Carnegie  had  not 
showered  on  this  intellectual  desert.  But  there  were 
books  at  the  drug  store,  any  amount  of  them,  the  post 
master  said;  and  therein  Howerson  found  a  row  of 
novels  running  every  inch  of  six  feet  on  the  show  case. 
He  was  looking  at  their  titles,  hoping  that  among  them 
he  might  find  an  old  friend,  when  there  came  a  shout, 
"  Well  I'll  be  blowed!  "  He  wheeled  about,  and  there 
stood  an  old  friend,  not  bound  in  buckram  but  clothed 
in  flesh  —  Yal  Watkins. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

NOT  THE  PRINTED  BOOK 
/ 

Love  with  wings  of  ecstasy  may  whir  the  trembling 
hours  away,  but  friendship,  love's  second  thought  and 
sometimes  better  judgment,  walks  companion  with  the 
hours  and  is  grateful  that  they  linger  in  their  pace. 
Now  the  Poet  no  longer  sought  the  printed  book,  for  in 
Yal  Watkins  he  had  mutual  reminiscence  and  kindred, 
observation,  a  manuscript  kept  ever  fresh  and  free  from 
mechanic  binding.  The  friends  strolled  for  a  time  about 
the  town,  but  as  the  air  was  biting,  they  went  to  the 
hotel  and  with  the  best  cigars  offered  by  the  traveler's 
sample  case,  quartered  themselves  in  Howerson's  room. 

"  Of  all  men  I  least  expected  to  meet  you  here,"  said 
Watkins,  sitting  down,  standing  and  walking  about  in 
expression  of  his  enjoyment.  "  It  was  natural  enough 
that  you  should  run  across  me,  for  this  is  a  part  of  my 
territory.  But  you!  " 

"  Part  of  my  territory,  too,  Yal.  You've  heard  of 
the  earth,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,"  drawled  Watkins,  "  I've  struck  it  a  time  or 
two." 

"  Well,  the  earth  is  my  territory.  How  are  you 
doing?  " 

He  had  some  half  a  dozen  times  answered  this  ques 
tion,  but  his  friend  wanted  again  to  hear  him  say,  "  Tip 
top.  I  picked  up  the  old  glove  and  put  it  on." 

And  now  came  a  question  not  asked  before :  ' '  Any 
disposition  to  booze?  " 

238 


NOT  THE  PRINTED  BOOK  239 

"  Not  a  bit.  Never  a  moment's  temptation.  Liquor 
may  be  a  disease,  but  it's  a  disease  that  the  mind  can 
cure.  Give  me  a  light.  .  .  .  Thank  you.  As  soon 
as  a  fellow  realizes  that  between  him  and  liquor  there 
are  no  halfway  measures,  that  he  must  be  a  slave  by  asso 
ciation  and  a  master  only  by  abstinence,  he's  got  the 
dog  choked." 

' '  That 's  true,  Yal.  More  drunkards  gag  over  liquor 
than  smile  over  it.  '  Poverty  is  the  brother  of  drunken 
ness  and  crime,'  quoth  aptly  the  scientist  of  the  ancient 
world. ' ' 

"  Don't  know  that  I'm  acquainted  with  the  gentle 
man,  but  it's  a  fact  just  the  same.  Happen  to  have  his 
name  about  you  at  present?  I  don't  care  who  tells  a 
lie,  but  when  a  fellow  tells  a  truth  I  like  to  get  his 
'  number. '  ' 

' '  Aristotle  —  as  far  ahead  of  Plato  when  it  comes  to 
truth  and  common  sense  as  Darwin  was  of  a  lisping 
child." 

' '  I  see.  I  Ve  about  let  all  such  things  slip  since  I  gave 
up  school  teaching  in  the  Black  Hills." 

"  What  is  it  you  haven't  done,  Col.  Watkins?  " 

"  Let  me  see.  I've  milked  goats  in  Mexico,  canvassed 
for  the  '  Royal  Path  of  Life  '  in  the  Klondike,  run  wild 
cat  whiskey  down  the  Kentucky  river  in  tin-lined  coffins, 
sold  sassafras  sprouts  for  Alberta  peach  trees  in  Okla 
homa  —  and  most  everything  else. ' ' 

"  Enough  to  prove  that  you've  made  an  effort  to  get 
on  in  the  world.  Do  you  like  the  cigar  business?  " 

"  It's  all  right  enough,  George,  but  I  don't  like  to 
travel  about  and  go  nowhere  as  I  once  did.  I  am  begin 
ning  to  hanker  for  the  luxury  of  staying  in  one  place 
at  a  time." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  live  here,  Yal?  " 


240  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

"Me?  You  may  laugh,  but  I'd  like  it.  Did  I  ever 
tell  you  I  was  born  out  on  the  pike  about  three  miles 
from  this  town?  I  was." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  a  coal  mine?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  a  hole  in  the  ground.  But  how  can  a  fel 
low  be  serious  when  you  fire  such  questions  at  him?  " 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  manage  these  coal  mines?  " 

"  Manage  'em?  You  don't  have  to.  They  can't  get 
away." 

' '  Eoundly,  roundly,  mad  wag.  I  want  to  know.  Could 
you?  It  is  a  position  heavy  with  responsibility,  but  I 
want  to  know  and  in  all  seriousness  whether  you  feel 
equal  —  ' ' 

1  "  George,  I  could  eat  it  up.  My  old  man,  when  he 
wasn't  acting,  used  to  operate  a  mine  not  ten  miles  from 
here,  and  a  coal  mine  was  the  darksome  front  door  to 
the  ramshackle  mansion  of  my  experience.  Manage  a 
mine?  Tell  me  not  in  mournful  numbers.  But  what 
about  it?  " 

"  A  good  deal  about  it.  I  believe  that  by  my  advice 
Mr.  "Whateley  for  his  own  good  is  going  to  erect  a  derrick 
and  remove  this  man  Wherry.  I  think  the  job  is  worth 
from  four  to  five  thousand  a  year.  And  if  you  feel  — 

' '  Feel !  Why,  George,  I  'm  tingling  all  over.  Feel ! 
If  you  can  get  the  job  for  me  I'll  trot  up  the  hill 
side  with  it  under  my  arm.  You  know  I've  always 
been  honest,  when  the  opportunity  offered.  You  know 
I'd  suffer  my  right  arm  to  be  cut  off  rather  than  stick 
you.  Without  boasting,  I  tell  you  I  can  manage  these 
works  better  than  they  were  ever  managed." 

"  I  believe  you,  old  fellow.  I  know  you  are  kind- 
hearted,  and  without  goodness  of  heart,  tempered  witli 
judgment  as  it  must  be,  no  man  ought  to  be  set  over  r 
number  of  men.  In  the  street  as  we  came  along  I 


NOT  THE  PRINTED  BOOK  241 

noticed  what  I  have  seen  in  you  before,  that  you  inspire 
children  with  confidence.  Without  a  similar  faculty  I 
should  now  be  —  but  no  matter.  I  believe  I  can  get 
this  place  for  you,  and  you  convince  me  that  I  shall  not 
make  a  mistake.  You  may  think  that  I  act  out  of  friend 
ship  for  you,  and  in  a  way  this  is  true,  but  I  am  moved 
mainly  by  another  motive,  the  desire  to  do  everything  I 
possibly  can  for  Mr.  Whateley's  interest.  If  you  were 
my  twin  brother  and  I  did  not  feel  you  to  be  compe 
tent,  I  would  get  the  job  for  a  competent  enemy  rather 
than  for  you.  Yal,  I  am  doing  sentimental  penance, 
and  one  of  these  days  when  I  explain  to  you,  your  eyes 
will  blink  more  astonishment  than  you  were  ever  able 
to  make  them  express  when  on  the  stage  Miss  —  what 
was  that  blonde's  name?  " 

"  Oh  —  er  —  Miss  Hortense  Ludwig,  to  the  restricted 
public,  but  Sadie  Martin  by  divorce  court  register." 

"  Well,  when  Miss  Ludwig  as  Lady  Montrose  threw 
herself  into  your  arms  with  the  shriek  that  so  far  as 
she  was  able  to  discover,  the  house  was  on  fire. 
Yal,  I  can 't  get  it  out  of  my  head  that  I  am  not  playing 
a  part.  Sometimes  when  I'm  with  Whateley  I  catch 
myself  saying,  'Let's  see,  what's  my  cue?  '  And  at 
the  close  of  the  performance  —  it  will  be  a  quick  curtain 
I  fear  me. 

"  We  haven't  got  down  to  the  question  under  discus 
sion  in  a  very  business-like  way,  but  we  understand  each 
other,  and  that's  the  main  point.  I'll  reach  Chicago 
to-morrow  evening  about  eight  thirty  and  shall  go  at 
once  to  the  Big  Jolt's  castle;  and  before  I  leave  he'll 
hear  of  a  fellow  named  Watkins.  He'll  say  '  Man  of 
experience?  '  and  answer  the  walking  gentleman, 
'  Experience  ?  Why  he  never  had  anything  else !  ' 

"111  go  with  you  to  Chicago.     I've  sold  this  town 


242'  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

and  will  instruct  myself  to  go  in,  preparatory  to  an 
attack  in  another  weak  quarter  of  the  enemy.  I  was 
going  in  anyway.  George,  the  suddenness  of  my  last 
rise  has  left  me  bewildered.  Lord,  I  couldn't  have 
believed  it  possible;  and  the  very  next  day  my  rags 
seemed  ages  ago." 

"  Misfortunes  fly  fast  to  overtake  us,"  said  Hower- 
son,  "  and  sometimes  they  fly  fast  leaving  us.  Yal,  I'm 
glad  you  came  into  the  plot.  You  help  me." 

' '  Help  you !  Why  you  soulful  simpleton !  I  'm  the 
squealing  pig  got  out  from  under  the  fence.  But  what 
will  the  fat  man  say  to  it?  I  met  him  in  a  drug  and 
cigar  emporium  the  other  day  and  asked  him  to  have 
a  weed  with  me,  now  selling  at  five  cents,  and  he  told  me 
that  it  was  not  his  intention  to  be  turned  into  an  adver 
tisement.  Won't  he  object  to  being  turned  into  the 
advertisement  of  his  own  failure?  " 

"  Verily,  verily  he  will;  and  he'll  scrap  for  his  job, 
and  in  argument  with  Whateley  he  will  log-roll  his 
weight  against  me." 

"  But  see  here,"  Watkins  interposed,  "  I  oughtn't 
to  build  my  hopes  very  high  until  we.  see  how  much  he 
weighs.  We  must —  " 

A  rap  on  the  door.  ' '  Come  in  !  "  and  entered  Wherry, 
just  as  timely  as  if  the  talk  had  led  up  to  his  necessary 
appearance.  "  Take  this  chair,"  but  discretion  sug 
gested  the  bed.  But  discretion  suggests  sometimes  an 
opportune  action  and  fails  to  inspire  a  timely  thought. 
It  seemed  that  Wherry  could  not  settle  upon  what  to 
say ;  and  when  on  such  occasions  you  seek  to  help  a  man, 
you  help  him  inaptly. 

"  Rather  a  pleasant  evening  coming  on,"  said  How- 
erson. 


NOT  THE  PRINTED  BOOK  243 

"It's  cold,"  said  Wherry. 

"  But  I  don't  think  we're  going  to  have  any  more 
frost,"  ventured  Howerson. 

"  Maybe  you  don't,"  declared  Wherry. 

"  Ah,  just  indicate  as  to  what  you'd  like  for  me  to 
say  and  perhaps  I'll  say  it,"  said  Howerson. 

"  I  guess  we've  got  all  the  way  around  the  stump," 
Wherry  replied,  "  and  I'd  like  a  few  words  with  you, 
alone."  He  looked  at  Watkins.  Howerson  spoke  up: 
"  Go  ahead.  Never  mind  him.  He's  my  secretary." 

"  He's  a  cigar  dealer  and  was  here  before  you  came. 
I  guess  you  are  playing  another  one  of  your  little  stage 
skits." 

"  No,  another  act  of  the  same  one.  It  is  a  sort  of 
Chinese  drama,  and  goes  on  and  on.  Actors  drop  out 
and  don't  wait  to  see  the  happy  round-up  at  the  close." 

"  And  I  suppose  you'd  have  me  believe  I've  dropped 
out.  Well,  it  so  happens  that  I  haven 't ;  and  don 't  you 
believe  Whateley  is  going  to  put  me  out  of  this  job. 
I've  been  with  him  too  long." 

"That's  what  I've  been  thinking,"  said  Howerson. 

"  Oh,  you  have.  We'll  see  about  it.  I  know  too  much, 
young  man." 

"  And  no  library  in  your  town,  either." 

"  Know  too  much  about  Whateley 's  affairs.  Don't  fool 
yourself  —  he  won't  put  me  out.  And  as  for  you  — 
what  do  you  suppose  these  men  would  do  if  I  told  'em 
of  the  trick  you  put  over?  " 

"  They'd  call  it  a  good  trick." 

"  Yes  they  would.    They'd  walk  out." 

"  Saying,  '  After  you,  sir.'  " 

"  Yes,  they  would.    They'd  walk  out  with  me." 

Howerson  yawned.     "  Any  suggestions?  " 


244  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Oh,  I've  offered  my  suggestions  all  right  enough. 
Whateley  will  know  what  comes  next.  My  statement 
will  get  to  him  about  as  soon  as  you  do. ' ' 

"  I  can  take  it  with  me  if  you've  got  it  ready." 

' '  Yes,  I  'd  let  you.    It  has  gone  by  special  delivery. ' ' 

"  Why  not  by  special  train?  All  right,  our  business 
is  settled.  Col.  Watkins,  the  supper  bell,  methinks." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  Wherry  snorted.  "  Can't  you 
drop  that  play-acting  rot  for  a  second  and  talk  like  a 
human  being?  " 

' '  Ha,  a  Puritan, ' '  cried  Howerson,  turning  to  Watkins 
in  mimic  fright.  ' '  We  shall  be  scourged  to  Tyburn !  A 
wise  one  said,  '  Satire  is  the  sister  of  Elegy.'  Here  we 
have  'em  both  in  one.  Behold  them." 

"  Damned  fool,"  Wherry  growled. 

"  Mark,  Col.  Watkins,"  said  Howerson,  his  hand  on 
the  doorknob.  ' '  He  says  '  damned  fool !  '  —  Puritanism 
turned  desperado.  Let  us  send  him  up  a  pot  of  tea 
to  soothe  him  back  into  the  Quaker-hanging  gentleness 
of  his  ancestors." 

"  That's  all  right,  gay  buck  —  but  I'll  hang  your  hide 
on  the  fence.  Mark  that,  too,  Col.  Watkins." 

"  Marked  down  to  cost,"  Watkins  grinned. 

"  My  hide,  buck-hide  on  the  fence,"  moaned  Hower 
son,  shuddering  at  the  prospective  sight.  "  And  passers- 
by  will  say,  '  A  fair  hide,  upon  my  word.'  But  when 
your  expansive  skin  hangs  out  upon  the  bending  hedge, 
some  city  journeyer  through  the  lane  will  say,  '  Club 
house  airing  its  carpet !  '  Col.  Watkins,  a  strip  of  leather 
called  steak,  a  sugared  puff  ball,  shovel-billed  catfish 
pinked  and  called  salmon,  muddy  chickory  called  coffee 
and  jelly  made  of  the  once  prancing  foot  of  the  bull- 
calf  of  the  green,  wait  for  us  below.  Captain  Wherry, 
adieu." 


NOT  THE  PRINTED  BOOK  245 

The  superintendent  followed  them  out,  muttering: 
"  Loon,  if  there  ever  was  one.  And  if  Whateley  hasn't 
suspected  it  before,  a  sight  of  you  when  you  get  back 
will  make  it  plain  to  him." 

After  supper  the  friends  walked  about  the  town,  a 
quiet  though  rollic  stroll,  burlesque  philosophers  at  play, 
their  minds  as  idle  as  young  dogs  unchained  and  almost 
as  graceful.  Other  days  flew  back  on  gauzy  wings,  days 
which  once  had  circled  bat-like  about  them,  threatening 
with  clammy  wing  to  slap  their  faces,  days  of  hunger 
and  nights  of  distress,  but  now  days  of  happiness  because 
they  were  of  the  past. 

At  a  stall  where  were  sold  the  news  of  the  day  and 
the  month's  output  of  fiction,  political  abuses,  public 
opinion,  illustrated  with  portraits  of  old  men  of  the  day 
and  young  actresses  of  the  moment,  the  idlers  found 
a  treasure,  a  volume  of  native  odes,  sonnets  and  rhymed 
protest  against  this  modern  and  unappreciative  life. 

Upon  this  book  they  seized,  and  in  that  exultation 
which  only  book  lovers  can  feel,  they  took  it  to  the  hotel 
to  gluttonize  over  it.  In  Howerson's  room,  not  long 
before  train  time,  they  were  still  fresh  in  the  enjoyment 
of  its  "  dank  lush  grass,"  when  Wherry  came  for  just 
a  word,  he  assured  them,  as  he  sat  heavily  on  the  bed. 

' '  Mr.  Howerson,  I  have  waited  to  see  you  just  before 
you  go." 

"  All  right,  but  I  thought  that  our  characters,  we 
three,  so  far  as  they  relate  one  to  another,  had,  for  our 
purposes,  been  sufficiently  developed." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  man,  be  natural.  How  can  you 
keep  up  that  nonsense  so  long?  " 

"  Natural?  Don't  dogs  play?  Don't  horses  kick  up 
their  heels  ?  Natural !  "Why,  you  are  the  one  determined 
to  live  apart  from  nature." 


246  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  You  are  not  natural,  sir;  you  are  simply  unreason 
able." 

' '  Thank  thee  for  that  cue.  The  poet  sayeth  that  man, 
being  a  reasoning  creature,  must  get  drunk ;  and  wedded 
to  temperance,  I  am  unreasonable  that  I  may  keep  sober. 
You  come  in  upon  us  when  we  are  making  the  long  hour 
short  reading  over  recovered  letters  to  our  lost  love, 
Miss  Muse,  and  laughing  because  we  find  that  our  tribute 
to  her  eyebrow  was  a  ditty  tuned  up  with  heart  throb  and 
sung  to  a  smear  of  burnt  cork.  And  we  are  wise  to 
laugh,  for 

*  If  all  the  year  were  playing  holidays 

To  sport  would  be  as  tedious  as  to  work, 

But  when  they  seldom  come  they  wished-for  come, 

And  thus  nothing  pleaseth  but  rare  accidents.' 

Thus  spoke  great  Hal  in  deep  soliloquy, 

And  thus  upon  John  Wherry  we  enjoin, 

That  he  should  come  as  accident  —  most  rare. 

We  pay  you  grave  tribute.  Don't  we,  Col.  Watkins? 
Speak  up,  lad!  " 

"  Yea,  couple  him  up  with  greatness,  let  him  loll 
where  flesh  and  genius  lolled,  while  he  brings  only 
flesh." 

"  Bravo,  Colonel  Watkins,  the  struck  nail  sinks  to 
the  head.  Now,  sir,  to  you  we  yield  the  threatened  floor. ' ' 

Wherry  puffed  out  his  jaws.  "  I  have  been  in  an 
insane  asylum  —  ' ' 

But  emboldened  Watkins  cut  in  upon  him:  "  Natural 
enough,  the  question  being  '  why  away?  ' 

"  Peace  ye,"  cried  Howerson.    "  Let  him  speak." 

' '  And  I  was  going  to  say  this :  Have  been  in  an  insane 
asylum  and  never  saw  such  insanity.  But  I  didn  't  come 


NOT  THE  PRINTED  BOOK  247 

to  tell  you  something  you  ought  to  have  known  already, 
but  to  say  in  all  fair  warning  that  it  would  be  foolish 
in  you  to  attempt  to  bring  about  a  clash  between  Whate- 
ley  and  me.  I  have  been  with  him  ten  years.  So  let 
us  part  on  good  terms.  I  am  a  useful  man  here  and 
Whateley  knows  it.  I  have  no  family;  I  have  nothing 
to  look  after  but  his  affairs.  Let  us  be  serious." 

"  Mr.  Wherry,"  said  Howerson,  "  nothing  would 
please  me  more.  But  I  am  unfortunate  in  my  composi 
tion.  I  can't  be  serious  at  will.  With  me  seriousness  is 
a  disease,  a  dropsy  of  melancholy  waters,  cured  by 
humorous  tapping.  And  now  in  bounding  health,  I'll 
be  as  sick  with  you  as  I  can.  I  am  going  to  tell  Mr. 
Whateley  that  you  have  out-fattened  your  usefulness 
here.  As  I  said  before,  you  are  unkindly,  and  for  the 
grouch  that  believes  itself  a  virtue,  I  give  it  entertain 
ment  while  I  hold  my  watch,  to  mark  off  its  allotted 
minute.  Col.  Watkins,  the  train." 


CHAPTER  XXH. 
A  PIECE  OF  GOLD 

Wherry  followed  the  roisterers  down  the  stairs  and 
out  to  the  hack,  where  an  old  fellow  whose  boast  was 
that  once  he  had  owned  a  stable,  now,  with  two  bare- 
boned  horses,  was  waiting  to  haul  off  guests  ever  impa 
tient  to  hear  his  "  Git  ep."  Howerson  regretted  that 
he  had  kept  the  superintendent  out  of  his  bed,  assuring 
him  that  his  staying  up  was  an  unexpected,  not  to  say 
an  unnecessary,  courtesy.  He  was  not  one  to  depreciate 
the  early  morning  air;  still  it  was  wise  that  a  very  big 
man,  exposing  more  of  pore  surface  than  one  of  a  less 
generous  expansion,  should  have  a  "  shrewd  care  of  his 
health."  Wherry  told  him  not  to  worry.  He  ran  no 
risk  in  coming  down.  He  was  not  afraid  to  venture 
forth  in  the  morning's  raw  air,  especially  when  he  could 
be  of  service  to  a  fellow  creature :  ' '  And  that  service, 
sir,  is  to  tell  you  this :  Kemember  that  I  know  too  much. 
That's  all." 

The  driver  cried  his  sharp  but  welcome  ' '  Git  ep, ' '  and 
Wherry's  form  was  merged  into  the  deep  shade  of  the 
dawn.  A  dog  ran  out  and  barked,  snapping  at  the 
horses'  heels;  and  from  a  cottage  wherein  burned  a 
yellow  light,  came  a  Polish  cradle  song,  the  words  for 
eign,  but  the  tender  melody  as  universal  as  the 
human  heart.  Some  little  sufferer  was  hushed  of  his 
crying  and  soothed  of  his  pain,  and  some  poor  creature 
born  to  bear  the  burdens  of  love,  was  on  the  threshold 
of  another  long  day  of  toil. 

248 


A  PIECE  OF  GOLD  249 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  Howerson  commanded. 

"  Haven't  got  much  time,"  the  driver  growled. 

"  Stop  anyhow."  When  the  hack  had  halted,  the 
Poet  leaped  out,  ran  to  the  cottage  and  rapped  on  the 
door.  A  woman  came,  a  woman  whose  step  was  weary, 
and  she  stood  in  silence.  "  For  the  little  one,"  said  the 
Poet  and  catching  her  hand,  he  closed  it  on  a  piece  of 
gold  and  ran  away. 

Up  and  down  the  platform  strode  the  roisterers,  where 
in  the  lamplight  had  gleamed  the  bayonet,  but  the  sol 
dier  now  was  gone. 

"  Col.  "Watkins,  I  charge  ye,  sir,  behold  God's  cres 
sets  blazing  in  the  sky,  brightest  just  before  Dawn,  the 
youngster,  comes  to  snuff  them.  Mark  them,  Colonel, 
and  so  order  your  life  that  it  may  harvest  brightness 
at  the  close." 

'  Yea,  verily,  Poet;  and  croak  resplendent." 

"  Col.  Watkins,  Montaigne's  great  pen  records  that 
Thales  was  reproached  for  his  poverty,  and  that  there 
upon  he  went  out  at  night,  and  studying  the  stars 
learned  from  them  that  there  was  to  be  an  abundant 
olive  crop.  Then  what  does  he  do?  Mark  him.  At 
small  cost  he  gets  an  option  on  all  the  olive  presses, 
thereby  gathering  much  gold.  Because  he  wanted  it? 
Nay.  But  to  show  that  a  philosopher  can  make  money 
if  he  lends  his  mind  to  it." 

"  All  of  which  means?  " 

"  Lend  your  mind  to  it,  Col.  Watkins.  Get  hold  of 
some  real  estate  here  and  after  a  while  we'll  joke  it 
into  double  value." 

"  You  seem-  to  think  I'm  really  going  to  get  this 
place." 

'  Yes,  I  believe  it  up  to  the  third  degree  of  serious 
ness. " 


250  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

"  But  Wherry  keeps  on  telling  us  he  knows  too 
much. ' ' 

"  The  more  reason  that  he  should  be  told  to  pack  his 
extensive  wardrobe.  Our  caravan  approaches." 

Out  from  beneath  the  fading  star  the  train  rushed, 
and  on  a  frosted  hilltop  met  the  flashing  blaze-tide  of 
the  rising  sun. 

"  Over  yonder,"  said  Howerson,  humping  his  shoul 
der  toward  a  farmhouse,  "  lives  the  youth  that  longs 
for  the  city.  The  tuning-fork  has  told  him  that  he  has 
a  soul  for  music,  and  mastery  of  the  multiplication  table 
assures  him  of  his  fitness  for  business.  Thus  equipped 
he  feels  the  cruelty  of  the  hand  that  holds  him  back 
from  conquest.  And  let  me  tell  you  that  here's  where 
the  conquerors  come  from.  Out  of  disturbed  Corsicas, 
beneath  banners  of  silk,  march  forth  Napoleons  to  make 
a  dice-box  of  a  throne  and  to  shake  out  the  destinies  of 
empires,  but  from  such  stagnant  life  as  this  about  us 
comes  the  boa  constrictor  of  trade  who,  wrapping  his 
folds  about  a  nation,  crushes  out  a  revenue  such  as  would 
have  made  great  Nap  blink  like  a  horned  owl." 

"  And  you  got  in  with  one  of  them.  How  the  deuce 
did  you  do  it?  " 

"  I  didn't.    It  was  a  part  of  the  plot." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  but,  George,  you  don't  mean  that  a 
man's  life  is  really  marked  out  for  him  and  that  he  is 
compelled  to  follow  it.  You  don't  really  mean  that,  do 
you?  " 

"  Suppose  I  say,  my  dear  Colonel,  that  side  trips 
may  be  haphazard  but  that  the  journey  is  scheduled?  " 

"  Suppose  you  should,  and  then  I'd  ask,  '  Why  hap 
hazard  side  trips  ?  Why  not  go  entirely  on  schedule  ?  ' 

' '  Then  I  'd  up  and  say,  '  Why  not  ?  '  In  my  own  case 
the  prearranged  plot  is  too  plain  and  I  can 't  dispute  it. ' ' 


A  PIECE  OF  GOLD  251 

"  George,  you  remind  me  of  the  founder  of  a  religion: 
afraid  to  make  your  doctrine  commonplace  by  clearness, 
you  resort  to  mysticism.  I  used  to  know  a  street  preacher, 
big  fellow  named  Batterson  —  ' ' 

"  Yes,  Batterson.  Go  ahead.  I  think  I've  heard  of 
him.  Where  is  he  now?  Have  you  seen  him  lately?  " 

"  Ah,  see  how  interested  you  are  in  the  obscure.  Let 
me  see  —  saw  him  only  a  few  days  ago.  But  it  struck 
me  that  he  had  reformed." 

"  How?  "  the  Poet  inquired  eagerly. 

' '  Well,  for  one  thing  he  had  on  a  clean  shirt. ' ' 

"  And  the  other  thing?    What  about  it?  " 

"  He  seemed  to  have  a  soberer  determination  than  of 
yore. ' ' 

"  Anybody  with  him?  " 

"  Someone  that  might  not  in  the  least  interest  you: 
a  woman.  Ah,  but  she  might  interest  you  now  that  Cap 
ital  is  your  stage-manager.  Of  course  you've  heard  of 
Annie  Zondish,  the  anarchist.  They  accused  her  at  the 
time  of  having  inspired  the  assassination  of  McKinley, 
but  this  was  not  true.  She  is  not  after  rulers  but  cap 
italists." 

"  Yes,  Yal—  "  he  did  not  call  him  Colonel  Watkins 
now  — ' '  but  how  does  it  chance  that  you  know  so  much 
about  her?  " 

"  Why,  one  night  she  picked  me  up  out  of  an  alley, 
fed  me  on  dried  fish  and  commanded  me  to  read  her 
book.  It  was  a  black  thing  —  had  the  scent  of  a  mur 
derer's  paw.  When  she  left  me,  I  gave  it  a  bath;  I 
threw  it  into  the  river." 

"  And  the  other  day  you  saw  her  with  Batterson. 
Anyone  else  in  the  party?  " 

"  Yes,  an  oldish  undertaker  of  a  fellow.  He  looked 
as  if  he  had  just  buried  a  buzzard,  a  member  of  his 


252  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

own  family.  In  my  recovered  kingdom  of  togs  and 
prosperity  Annie  didn't  recognize  me,  and  I  didn't  care 
to  make  myself  known,  afraid  she  might  ask  about  her 
book.  But,"  continued  Watkins  with  a  wave  of  the 
hand,  "  to  sulphurous  depths  with  'em.  They  are  not 
in  our  plot.  Ah,  but  soft  me  now,  George,  let  me  gentle 
myself,  as  our  poor  old  comedian  used  to  say,  but  have 
you  ever  met  Whateley's  daughter?  Both  morning  and 
afternoon  editions  call  her  handsome.  What  say  you, 
and  how  far  does  she  go  along  with  the  plot  ?  ' ' 

' '  You  look  as  if  you  expect  me  to  answer  with  embar 
rassment.  Yes,  I  have  met  her  —  several  times.  It 
would  be  easy  to  say  '  charming,'  wouldn't  it?  Noth 
ing  easier  than  to  say  '  handsome,  accomplished,  thrill 
ing,  dazzling.'  But  ecstasy  answers  no  questions  nor 
does  praise  set  forth  character." 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  something  to  say?  "  said  Wat- 
kins. 

' '  No,  trying  to  keep  from  saying  too  much.  You  ask 
if  she  is  handsome.  I  could  dismiss  her  looks  by  saying 
yes  or  no." 

"  But  you  won't." 

"  No,  for  it  would  be  like  throwing  away  a  rose  while 
the  scent  is  still  sweet.  And  by  the  way,  her  name  is 
Rose." 

"  Remarkable,"  said  Watkins. 

"  Oh,  not  startling.  The  first  impression  she  made  on 
me  was  that  she  must  be  game.  Rather  funny,  wasn't 
it?  " 

"  Uproarious.    But  go  ahead." 

' '  Game  —  that  was  it.  There  was  something  about  her 
eyes  that  pronounced  her  fearless.  In  the  wars  of  the 
Hussites  the  Bohemian  women  fought  in  the  ranks  the 
same  as  men,  and  looking  at  this  young  woman  I  have 


A  PIECE  OF  GOLD  253 

thought,  '  Oh,  but  you  would  have  been  a  gallant 
trooper. '  And  now  I  am  going  to  say  something  foolish. ' ' 

"  I  warrant  you,"  said  Watkins. 

"  I  am  going  to  say  that  she  has  a  perfume  of  man 
ner.  She  has.  Did  you  ever  smell  a  hickory  sapling? 
Did  you  ever  see  one  waving  gently  in  a  soft  breeze  and 
then  catch  a  smell  of  its  nodding  buds,  so  delicate  that 
the  girl  who  was  with  you  laughed  at  you  and  said  that 
she  couldn't  smell  anything?  This  hickory  sapling  is 
almost  a  perfume  for  the  soul ;  the  perfume  of  this  girl 's 
manner  is  a  perfume  wholly  for  the  soul.  Do  you  get 
me?  " 

"  Got  you  all  right,  George,  but  what  does  she  look 
like  ?  No  goddess  business.  What 's  her  style  ?  ' ' 

"  Large  gray  eyes,  with  maple  syrup  hair,  almost  too 
abundant;  tall;  a  mouth  of  character,  made  handsome 
by  the  kind  words  it  has  uttered;  a  voice  so  full  of 
melody  as  sometimes  to  rob  her  words  of  all  meaning, 
though  she  is  wise  in  speech ;  a  real  laugh  —  and  that 's 
most  rare  —  a  laugh  whose  music  steals  in  upon  your 
dreams  and  wakes  you  and  makes  you  sit  on  the  edge 
of  your  bed  and  say,  '  Damn  it,  man,  this  won't  do.' 
Can  you  see  her  ?  ' ' 

"  I  have  seen  her,  George,  in  an  auto  in  front  of  the 
old  man's  office;  and  I  said  to  myself  that  she  was  as 
well-finished  a  young  woman  as  I  had  ever  seen;  and 
while  a  fellow  that  has  gone  through  the  rolling  mill 
as  I  have  is  not  given  to  sentiment,  I  thought  that  if  I 
had  the  gold  topnot  of  a  duke  she  could  take  it  away 
from  me  and  pawn  it  if  she  wanted  to.  The  fellow  that 
was  with  her  —  ' ' 

11  What's  that?  " 

"  The  fellow  that  was  with  her  got  out,  and  the  first 
thing  about  him  that  struck  me,  was  the  enormous 


254  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

length  of  his  legs.  You  remember  that  out  on  the  road 
we  used  to  say  of  a  long-legged  fellow  that  he  must  have 
served  as  a  bell  boy  at  a  country  hotel  and  acquired  his 
high  split  by  running  up  the  stairs." 

"  He,  he,"  the  Poet  laughed,  "  a  fellow  with  long 
legs.  Must  have  been  exceedingly  funny.  Well,  what 
about  him  ?  Haven 't  you  got  anything  else  to  say  ?  Do 
you  dismiss  a  man  for  all  time  simply  because  his 
infernal  legs  happen  to  be  long?  What  about  him?  " 

"  Well,  he  looked  as  if  he  might  have  owned  a  trust 
or  two.  I  was  wondering  whether  your  plot  concerns 
him." 

"  Can't  possibly.  I  don't  think  we  are  ever  to  be  on 
at  the  same  time." 

' '  You  can 't  tell, ' '  said  Watkins.  ' '  He  may  give  you 
some  little  annoyance,  but  of  course  it's  in  the  forecast 
that  you  are  to  marry  this  charming  woman.  How 
about  that,  as  you  go  along?  " 

"  It  can't  be,  Yal.  You  know  that  after  all  this  is  an 
old-time  play,  with  its  jumble  of  comedy  and  tragedy, 
and  it  is  to  end  in  murder." 

"What!  " 

"  In  the  murder  of  Hope.  There  will  be  a  confession, 
the  devil  arises  and  down  through  an  up-pouring  of  red 
light  he  descends  with  old  George.  And  now  my  aim 
is  to  put  it  off,  to  hold  the  audience  as  long  as  possible. 
But  it  must  come." 

' '  Confession  be  blowed.  Tell  her  you  love  her.  That 's 
the  only  confession  that  counts  with  a  woman." 

' '  But  the  confession  is  not  to  her,  but  to  the  old  man. ' ' 

"  Nothing  to  it,  George.  Your  confession  is  simply 
the  acknowledged  parentage  of  certain  follies,  the  stage 
and  a  vagabond  love  for  a  trollop  in  rags,  strayed  child 
of  an  almost  respectable  family,  Miss  Verse.  I  might 


A  PIECE  OF  GOLD  255 

add  another  weakness,  straw-colored  liquor  held  high 
with  a  song  and  viewed  through  the  light  of  the  tran 
som.  But,  old  George,  a  fellow  that  could  gather  him 
self  up  and  then  resurrect  me,  old  broken-life  me,  can 
do  anything." 

"  Col.  Watkins,  enough.  We'll  now  go  into  the  din 
ing  car  and  eat  a  planked  whitefish,  old  enough  to  be 
the  great  grandsire  of  the  minnows  we  used  to  catch  on 
a  pin  hook,  and  kept  in  chill  storage  ever  since  that 
time.  Come,  roundly,  roundly,  and  let  me  lead  thee  to 
the  feast." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
MILLIONAIRED  LONG  LEGS 

Upon  arriving  in  town,  Howerson,  taking  Watkins 
with  him,  drove  to  the  hotel  where  he  still  retained  a 
room,  and  where  he  expected  to  find  certain  garments 
from  the  tailor's,  paid  for  in  advance.  To  his  friend 
he  said  that  he  was  going  out  to  the  "  Big  Jolt's  "  house 
looking  as  much  as  possible  the  smooth  and  easy  victor. 
He  may  not  have  realized  it,  but  his  mind  at  this  moment 
dwelt  upon  a  certain  man,  name  unknown,  but  possessed 
of  long  legs.  Yes,  there  were  the  clothes,  together  with 
neckties  that  seemed  to  enjoy  one  another's  bright 
society.  With  a  smile  the  Poet  looked  upon  them,  and 
hastening  to  make  ready  he  said  to  Watkins  that  he 
would  take  a  taxi  and  be  back  in  a  jiffy.  Watkins  was 
instructed  to  remain.  Oh,  there  was  no  need  to  be 
anxious  over  the  probable  outcome.  It  was  not  probable ; 
it  was  certain.  In  a  mirror  he  caught  sight  of  himself 
and  bowed.  It  was  not  vanity ;  it  was  armament. 

"  Coat  fits  like  the  bark  of  a  beech  tree,  eh,  Col.  Wat- 
kins  ?  Thank  you.  .  .  f  .  Your  opinion  is  of  worth. 
What  the  deuce  is  that  phone  ringing  for?  See  who 
it  is."  He  turned  about  and  waited.  "  Oh,  the  taxi. 
Be  ready  in  a  minute.  You'll  find  a  book  or  so  on  the 
table  to  while  away  the  time.  I  won't  be  gone  long. 
I'm  glad,  old  fellow,  you  are  so  interwoven  in  the  plot. 
But  I  don't  think  it  a  play,  though,  that  women  will  like. 
It  can't  be  helped,  however.  A  man  can  play  only 

256 


MILLIONAIRED  LONG  LEGS  257 

what  is  in  him.  The  highest  art  is  to  please  one's  own 
soul  with  consciousness  of  truth.  If  virtue  were  as 
tight  as  this  damned  glove,  she'd  burst  her  own  hide. 
It's  without  Sunday  moral,  this  play,  Colonel.  Well, 
I'm  off." 

In  the  taxi  Howerson  mused  over  Watkins'  amended 
ending  of  the  play.  The  old  man  had  accepted  him  as  a 
sort  of  prodigy,  an  opportune  commercial  inspiration,  lis 
tening  amused  to  his  confessions  of  un worthiness ;  but 
could  even  little  Calvin's  confidence  and  admiration 
serve  as  shield  against  the  discovery  that  while  a  trusted 
servant  he  sought  to  be  a  thief?  But  was  he  ambitious 
of  so  bold  and  exalted  a  robbery  ?  Had  hope  dared  drink 
itself  so  drunk?  And  in  disclaiming  it  all,  his  mind 
thought  itself  honest.  In  meshes  of  metaphor  he  tangled 
himself,  and  laughed  himself  free.  "  Don't  think,  grim 
dramatist,  that  I  fail  to  catch  your  aim,"  he  mused. 
"  It  would  serve  as  one  of  your  sweetest  and  most 
revengeful  jokes  to  set  my  heart  on  fire  and  bid  me 
urn  the  ashes  and  weep  over  them.  You  know  that  with 
all  my  vanities,  I  have  galley-slaved  for  no  woman,  and 
now —  "  The  taxi  slowed,  stopped,  and  he  got  out 
among  automobiles  and  carriages,  in  front  of  Whateley  's 
house.  Lights  blazed  from  doors  and  windows. 

At  the  door  a  squash-faced  flunky  inquired  the  Poet's 
name.  Never  mind  the  name.  He  was  not  an  invited 
guest,  but  had  come  to  see  Mr.  Whateley  on  urgent  busi 
ness.  At  the  word  business  the  flunky  let  fall  his  jaw. 
He  had  heard  the  word,  an  American  word,  and  though 
the  menial  of  it,  held  it  in  contempt.  Old  Paul  caught 
sight  of  Howerson,  came  forward,  and  requested  him  to 
step  into  the  library.  Old  Calvin  was  not  a  part  of  the 
"  function."  Off  from  the  library  was  an  emergency 
room  for  business  that  dogged  him  home,  and  in  this 


25$  THE  NEW  MR  HOWERSON 

annex,  known  slyly  as  the  "  Inquisition,*'  the  master 
was  shut  up  with  a  man  from  South  America. 

"  I  will  tell  him  you  are  here  and  he  will  see  you  as 
soon  as  possible,"  said  old  Paul. 

The  hum  of  voices,  music,  laughter  were  borne  from 
the  drawing  rooms,  and  from  the  gridiron  on  which  he 
sat  the  Poet  caught  shifting  sight  of  a  dazzling  scene. 
He  saw  a  very  tall  man  swim  slowly  through  a  choppy 
tide  of  white  shoulders  and  —  Rose  met  him,  took  his 
arm.  What  was  that?  They  were  coming  toward  the 
library.  They  entered,  and  Howerson  arose  with  a  bow, 
mastered  under  the  tutelage  of  a  stage-manager  of  the 
old  school. 

"  WhyT  Mr.  Howerson !  "  and  she  came  forward  with 
such  frankness,  with  grace  so  simple  and  sincere  that  he 
felt  ashamed  of  himself.  "  I  didn't  know  you'd  got 
back.  Oh,  youVe  just  returned.  Let  me  introduce  Mr. 
Smill." 

And  his  legs  were  long.  Having  fallen  into  an  argu 
ment  Smill  and  Rose  had  come  to  consult  a  book,  to  settle 
it ;  and  it  looked  as  if  Mr.  Smill  could  stand  flat  of  foot 
and  pluck  down  the  "  highest-roosting  nightingales." 
Smill!  Well,  there  was  at  least  some  comfort  in  the 
name.  The  book,  Petronius  Arbiter.  What  the  deuce 
did  he  know  about  a  book  like  that?  What  intellectual 
right  had  he?  But  he  did  know,  and  won  the  argument. 
He  spoke  of  Europe,  whence  he  had  of  late  returned, 
as  if  it  were  his  playground,  the  Mediterranean  as  his 
"  Old  Swimming  Hole." 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  Rose  seemed  pleased  to  hear 
him  talk.  But  surely  she  could  not  love  him.  And  why 
not  ?  Did  not  history  come  forward  titteringly  to  prove 
that  many  of  the  world's  handsomest  and  most  intel 
lectual  women  have  been  enamored  not  only  of  physical 


MTTJJONATRED  LONG  LEGS  259 

but  of  moral  deformity  I  Not  much  condolence  to  be 
eked  from  such  speculation.  But  the  name  Smill,  that 
was  soothing.  Ah,  but  how  stupid  not  to  have  recalled 
a  name  so  often  headlined  by  the  newspapers.  Arthur 
Smill,  steel-maker  of  Pittsburgh  and  of  Gary,  son  of  a 
father  who  when  dying  smiled  upon  the  poor  but  not 
until  then;  Arthur  Smill,  the  origin  of  whose  seventy- 
five  millions  sprouted  in  the  soil  of  grandadish  antiquity. 
Not  always  does  great  wealth  hold  with  his  brother,  more 
great  wealth,  contemptuous  converse  over  illuminated 
manuscript  and  the  sacred  inkhorn  of  God's  sublime  suf 
ferer,  the  poet.  The  third  generation,  cleansed  of  sharp 
bargain's  grime,  stands  patron  to  tomb-forgotten  genius 
and  invites  his  immortal  children,  old  books,  to  the  club 
and  to  auction  held  in  church. 

"  Yes,"  said  Smill  as  Rose  listened  to  his  talk,  "  no 
matter  who  the  man  may  be,  in  the  library  he  can  always 
reach  up  and  take  down  his  master." 

In  him  Howerson  no  longer  saw  a  man  of  only 
money  and  long  legs,  but  a  balanced  gentleman,  a  stu 
dent;  but  to  what  degree  the  influence  of  seventy-five 
millions  entered  into  this  estimate,  he  could  not  trust 
himself  to  determine;  and  the  Poet  mused,  letting  fell 
a  hopeless  look  upon  the  woman:  "  He's  flattening  me 
out  on  my  own  ground." 

A  poor  part  was  the  Poet,  of  late  so  confident  and  so 
rollicking,  now  to  play ;  and  lending  his  mind  to  drollery 
he  sought  to  trip  up  dignity,  captivating  to  a  fun-loving 
woman  when  it  succeeds.  But  it  did  not,  for  here  he 
was  met  with  humor,  not  the  millionaire's  own,  but  of 
the  trust,  and  as  in  all  matters  of  the  syndicate,  directed 
with  cunning  force.  Rose  laughed  and  "  millions  " 
chuckled  with  good  fellowship.  Then  the  Poet  made  the 
discovery  that  in  a  way  the  steel  man's  mind  was  too 


260  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

well  ordered,  that  in  his  criticism  of  creative  thinkers 
there  was  no  insinuative  newness,  no  original  explora 
tion,  no  metaphysical  surprise  in  his  whim  or  crisp 
exactness  in  his  observations;  and  now,  accommodated 
to  his  own  egotism,  the  Poet  counted  victory  at  least  in 
some  measure,  when  he  caught  a  stammer  in  the  mind 
of  this  tall  intruder  into  the  plot. 

Rose  was  so  taken  with  the  flavor  of  ' '  Pal 's  ' '  courage 
that  she  withheld  herself  from  the  tilt-yard  of  this 
spirited  though  good-humored  joust,  but  suspecting 
that  there  was  on  the  part  of  either  knight  a  lag  of 
thrust,  she  would  slyly  warm  him  to  it. 

It  seemed  that  of  late  she  had  been  much  in  SmilPs 
company,  and  had  grown  a  bit  weary  of  his  learning. 
With  the  poor  there  is  some  excuse  for  scholarship,  an 
ancient  right;  while  the  rich,  robbing  poverty  of  rags 
washed  at  the  sacred  pool,  add  tatters  to  fine  raiment 
and  make  boast  of  it.  The  Poet  caught  her  mood. 

"  With  the  rich,"  he  said,  "  mind  may  be  permitted 
to  go  on  unproductive  journeys,  if  they  be  short,  but  to 
them  the  real  province  of  the  mind  is  not  to  spin  fancies 
but  to  weave  cloth.  Carnegie  buys  books  by  the  ship 
load,  but  to  him  the  book  is  not  the  mind's  master 
achievement,  nor  is  it  consistent  with  his  nature  and 
experience  that  it  should  be.  America  offers  over  other 
nations  no  advantage  of  books,  and  America  is  the 
world's  richest  nation.  Italy  is  rich  in  sentiment  only, 
and  out  from  among  marble  hands,  admired  of  the  world, 
is  stretched  a  real  hand,  grimy  and  wrinkled,  the  hand 
of  poverty,  begging.  '  The  mind's  greatest  and  most 
lasting  achievement  is  to  create  wealth,  '  says  Mr. 
Carnegie. ' ' 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  —  "  He  could  not  get  How- 
erson's  name  and  Rose  in  sly  mischief  refused  to  help 


MILLIONAIRED  LONG  LEGS  261 

him.  "  Beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  I  count  Mr.  Carnegie 
as  one  of  my  closest  friends,  and  I  never  heard  him  say 
that." 

"  Oh,  he  may  not  have  said  it  to  you,  but  I  can  hear 
his  spirit  shout  it  to  the  world. ' ' 

"  Ah,  but  you  can  sit  back  and  make  a  man's  spirit 
shout  anything  you  please;  and  I  can  say,  '  I  didn't 
hear  it,'  and  then  you  can  reply,  '  Probably  not.  You 
are  deaf.'  ' 

' '  Yes,  and  you  might  be  deaf.  A  man  is  always  deaf 
to  any  spirit  shout  he  doesn't  care  to  hear.  But  answer 
me  this :  Do  you  regard  Mr.  Carnegie  as  a  great  man  ?  ' 

"  I  surely  do  —  a  wonderful  man." 

' '  As  great  a  man,  for  instance,  as  Edgar  Poe  ?  ' ' 

' '  Well,  but  they  are  so  totally  different  that  you  can 't 
compare  them.  It  would  be  unjust  to  both.  But  if  you 
ask  me  which  one  of  these  men  has  been  of  greater  bene 
fit  to  mankind,  I  shall  say  Carnegie;  and,  I  believe  that 
a  poll  of  the  public  would  bear  me  out. ' ' 

' '  Undoubtedly.  Poe  wrote  a  few  books ;  Carnegie  has 
given  millions  of  books  to  the  public.  You  will  admit  it 
is  generous  to  build  libraries." 

"  Admit  it,"  laughed  Mr.  Smill.  "  Why,  I  proclaim 
it." 

"  Of  course.  Now  suppose  I  were  possessed  of  five 
hundred  millions  and  should  set  aside  one  hundred  mil 
lions  for  Art.  Would  that  be  generous?  " 

"  To  the  public,  yes." 

"  And  suppose  that  Art  should  consist  of  a  monument 
over  my  own  grave.  Would  that  be  generous  ?  Wouldn  't 
it  be  an  expression  of  vanity?  " 

"  Well,  putting  it  that  way,  probably  so." 

"  And  yet  you  call  it  generous  when  in  nearly  every 
town  in  the  country  Mr.  Carnegie  builds  a  monument  to 


262  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

himself.  Suppose  Mr.  Carnegie,  upon  deciding  to  give 
away  a  certain  sum  of  money,  had  assembled  a  number 
of  old  men  and  said  to  them,  '  You  men  have  burnt  out 
your  eyes  with  gazing  into  the  bubbling  metal  of  my 
melting  pots.  You  are  old  and  poor.  It  is  not  for  me  to 
say  that  you  could  have  been  rich.  You  didn't  happen 
to  be  constituted  that  way.  But  it  is  for  me  to  say  that 
I  had  thought  to  establish  a  large  number  of  libraries 
throughout  the  country,  involving  an  expenditure  of 
millions,  but  I  have  changed  my  mind.  I  am  going  to 
apportion  this  money  among  you.  You  helped  me  to 
acquire  it.  Don't  say  anything  about  it.'  And  now 
Mr.  Smill,  wouldn't  that  have  been  more  generous  than 
the  building  of  a  thousand  brick  and  mortar  monuments 
unto  himself?  I  have  observed  that  people  who  really 
want  books  can  get  them;  and  I've  noticed,  too,  that  a 
million  books  will  not  induce  some  people  to  read.  What 
do  you  think  of  it?  " 

Hereupon  Rose  cried  out:  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
think,  Mr.  Howerson.  I  think  you  are  right.  Poverty 
doesn't  care  for  books,  and  the  people  for  whom  those 
libraries  are  intended  are  able  to  buy  them.  The  enjoy 
ment  and  the  profit  of  books  require  a  sort  of  free  mental 
atmosphere,  and  the  literary  charity  patient  is  rarely 
benefited  or  grateful.  It  so  happens  that  I  know  a  great 
deal  about  the  working  of  the  charitable  machine,  and  I 
know  that  books  are  not  what  a  certain  class  looks  to 
for  happiness.  Mr.  Carnegie's  class  has  the  books 
already;  and  the  only  true  intellectual  charity  that  I 
can  see  is  to  move  the  lower  order  up  into  the  library 
class." 

Mr.  Smill  smiled  with  illuminative  indulgence.  When 
a  woman  talked  "  wisdom  "  it  was  to  him  as  prettily 
ingenious  as  the  doll  that  squawks  when  you  squeeze  it. 


MILLIONAIRED  LONG  LEGS  263 

"  How  is  all  this  to  be  brought  about?  "  he  inquired, 
and  what  a  tribute  to  her  sex  that  from  her  he  should 
seek  not  amusement  but  information. 

"  Not  by  buildings  with  domes,"  she  said.  "  And 
never  by  any  system  of  organized  charity.  You  may 
organize  against  the  cause  of  poverty  but  not  against 
poverty  itself.  Seek  out  the  individual  and  help  him, 
and  in  his  turn  the  individual  knows  whom  to  help.  The 
guide  to  distress  is  not  the  man  of  millions  but  the  fel 
low  who  hasn't  a  penny.  Take  Dr.  Henshaw,  for 
instance.  Do  you  suppose  he  could  find  virtue  in  distress 
—  outside  of  his  own  creed?  In  view  of  doing  charity 
work  worth  while,  I  have  thought  of  employing  some 
woman  from  the  slums  to  teach  me,  to  go  about  with  me, 
to  help  merit  find  employment. ' ' 

No  light  of  indulgence  now  glowed  forth  from  the 
countenance  of  Mr.  Smill.  "  And  a  fine  reputation  you 
would  have  at  the  close,"  he  said  in  a  failing  effort  to 
smile. 

Now  fell  another  opportunity  for  the  Stage  Manager 
of  the  Old  School.  Howerson  bowed  to  Miss  Whateley 
and  gave  to  Smill  a  sort  of  dignified  shudder.  "  Grace 
may  accomplish  most  when  most  she  risks  her  reputa 
tion,"  he  said,  and  to  himself  he  mused,  "  Old  fellow  if 
you  put  this  one  over,  you're  good."  And  he  did.  Ail- 
that  Smill  needed  to  do  was  to  laugh,  and  this  down-stage 
trick  would  have  lost  its  countenance.  But  he  did  not 
laugh,  that  is,  quickly  enough,  and  a  delayed  laugh  is  as 
much  an  acknowledgment  of  defeat  as  a  timely  guffaw 
is  a  declaration  of  victory.  Howerson 's  blood  warmed 
his  fingertips,  his  ears,  and  then  he  felt  it  leap  like  a 
steel-head  salmon.  He  had  heard  Rose  whisper,  "  Pal." 
Then  came  the  thought  that  his  too  eager  ear  might  in 
its  straining  have  caught  an  accent  of  its  own  creation, 


264  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

and  in  still  water  the  leaping  fish  fell  dead.  Keen  hope 
gave  her  a  glance  and  she  smiled,  but  not  with  the 
stolen  slyness  that  his  heart  might  seize  upon  as  con 
firmation  of  his  thirsty  ear. 

And  what  could  have  been  more  unkeyed  with  his 
tension  than  these  her  words  addressed  to  Smill :  ' '  What 
were  we  talking  about,  anyway?  " 

The  millionaire  laughed  a  stupid  laugh,  and  the 
Poet  mused,  ' '  You  have  given  to  him  your  promise,  and 
like  the  wife  who  playfully  takes  sides  against  her  hus 
band,  you  are  having  sport  with  me."  Then  how  easy 
out  of  this  Croesus  to  fashion  an  Apollo.  True,  his  legs 
were  long,  but  were  they  not  shapely?  Was  not  his 
face  confident  with  the  lofty  brow  of  learning?  Was 
not  his  eye  clear  and  strong?  And  while  assuming  the 
air  of  modesty  did  not  his  bearing  acclaim  him  one  of 
the  powerful?  Yes,  what  were  they  talking  about? 
Smill  said  he  did  not  know,  and  in  accommodation  rather 
than  in  interest  looked  to  Howerson  as  prompter.  The 
Poet  bowed  himself  out  of  such  responsibility  and  looked 
to  the  young  woman  for  a  fresh  cue ;  and  in  her  smile 
he  read,  "  I  did  not  call  you  '  pal  '  just  now.  It  was 
impudent  of  you  to  think  so. ' ' 

"  Oh,  do  you  play  golf,  Mr.  Howerson?  "  she  cried, 
as  if  it  were  a  forgotten  question  she  had  longed  to 
ask.  "  I  had  Mr.  Smill  out  to-day,  but  it  was  too  early 
in  the  season.  The  course  was  —  ' ' 

"  Frightful,"  said  Smill.  "  The  green  would  have 
made  an  archbishop  swear." 

"  And  you  did  not,"  she  spoke  admiringly,  "  What 
self-restraint.  Do  you  play,  Mr.  Howerson  ?  ' ' 

"  I  tried  it  one  season  when  opportunity  offered,  and 
in  a  way  formed  genial  acquaintance  with  driver,  brassy 


MILLIONAIRED  LONG  LEGS  265 

and  midiron,  but  the  mashie  made  servile  conquest  of 
me,  and  in  acknowledged  defeat  I  bowed  to  the  sward. 
No,  I  don't  play,  but  I  am  glad  that  I  tried,  for  it 
gave  me  new  views  of  landscapes;  and  to-night  I 
saw  a  star  lying  on  the  green  of  the  heavens,  just  a  good 
putt  from  Jove's  Silver  Cup,  the  Moon." 

Eose  cried  ' '  Good, ' '  and  looked  to  Smill  for  confirma 
tion. 

Through  the  off  corner  of  his  mouth,  that  gentleman 
muttered,  "  This  fellow's  a  crank.  I  much  prefer  fenc 
ing,"  he  spoke  out.  "  And  even  here  Miss  Whateley  can 
give  me  —  I  might  say  —  cards  and  spades. ' ' 

"  But  I  can  never  reflect  due  credit  on  my  marvelous 
teacher,"  said  Rose.  "  Mr.  Howerson,  you  must  have 
heard  of  old  Colonel  Banstree." 

"  What,  is  he  living?  Heard  of  him!  Why,  before 
going  on  the  stage  I  took  lessons  of  him.  He  was  then 
nearly  eighty  and  that  was  five  years  ago." 

"  Oh,  and  you  took  lessons  of  him.  Sometime  we 
will  go  to  see  him,  you  and  I,  for  if  he  once  knew  you 
he  knows  you  now,  and  would  be  glad  to  see  you.  He 
is  one  of  the  most  interesting  characters  I  have  ever 
known,  and  I  am  very  fond  of  him.  His  armory,  as  he 
terms  it,  is  not  far  from  our  house." 

With  sincere  invitation  in  her  eyes  she  looked  at  How 
erson,  and  the  fervor  with  which  he  accepted  and  which 
he  had  not  been  able  to  shield  against  the  penetration  of 
Smill's  quick  eye,  did  not,  he  felt,  advance  him  in  the 
estimation  of  the  great  capitalist.  But  in  truth  his 
thought  was  but  a  bit  of  self  flattery,  for  Smill,  having 
cast  him  out  of  his  mind,  had  been  surprised  to  find  him 
still  standing  there. 

From  the   company   of  lesser   moneyed   weights   the 


266  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

*l  multitudinous  "  capitalist  must  not  long  withdraw 
himself.  Eyes  jealous  for  the  favor  of  a  glance  from 
him  began  to  look  uneasily  about. 

"  Oh,  where  is  Mr.  Smill?  "  and  "  Oh,  here  they  are," 
and  into  the  library  came  laces,  jewels,  society's  buds, 
blossoms,  matured  flowers ;  and  in  the  light  of  the  great 
chandelier  flashed  beauty 's  nacreous  smile.  ' '  Here  they 
are, ' '  and  Smill  and  Rose  were  borne  away  on  a  gladsome 
tide,  leaving  the  Poet  to  stand  alone  in  a  dazzled  memory. 
But  for  only  a  few  moments.  Old  Paul  came  forward 
with  the  word  that  Mr.  Whateley  was  ready  to  receive 
him. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
THE  INQUISITION 

Into  a  room  that  seemed  close  and  tight  with  exactness, 
the  "  Inquisition,"  Howerson  was  shown  by  the  old 
butler,  who  took  at  once  to  flight  as  if  he  had  cause  to 
dread  the  eye  that  might  be  turned  upon  him.  Whateley 
was  sitting  with  his  back  toward  the  door.  He  did  not 
look  around;  he  said,  "  Come  in,"  and  his  voice  was 
harsh.  Ah,  what  leagues  of  dusty  roadway  and  thorn- 
bordered  trail  lay  between  this  grim  room  and  the  Cabin 
with  its  sentiment,  its  mellow  light.  The  old  man  was 
gazing  at  a  letter  lying  on  the  desk  before  him.  He 
turned  it  over,  seeming  to  pluck  up  with  his  eyes  the 
fiber  of  the  paper,  Wherry's  special  delivery,  Howerson 
conjectured. 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Howerson." 

He  sat  down.  From  the  drawing  rooms  now  so  far 
away,  floated  the  perfect  notes  of  laughter's  music,  and 
then  there  came  the  bulging  strains  of  a  baritone  song, 
some  calf  ambitious  to  bellow  into  the  ears  of  the  select. 

Whateley  looked  up.  ' '  The  dispatches  have  announced 
the  end  of  the  strike  and  the  withdrawal  of  the  troops. 
You  did  your  work  quickly,  Mr.  Howerson." 

"  It  did  not  take  long.  It  was  simple.  I  suppose 
Wherry  in  his  special  delivery,  tells  you  all  about  it." 

' '  No.  The  last  word  from  him  said  that  the  situation 
was  growing  worse.  How  did  you  bring  about  the  agree 
ment?  " 

In  telling  him  Howerson  found  it  hard  to  restrain  his 
267 


268  THE  NEW  MB.  HOWERSON 

actor  temptation,  but  he  did,  taking  instead  and  by 
happy  recourse,  the  poet's  shortcut  for  effect,  a  brevity 
that  business  might  well  adopt.  The  old  man  smiled  and 
but  for  the  traditions  and  future  purposes  of  the  "  In 
quisition,"  might  have  laughed. 

"  That  was  shrewd,  very  shrewd.  It  was  what  my 
daughter  would  call  art,  and  my  son  term  the  necessary 
rascality  of  business.  The  two  hundred  dollars  devoted 
to  art,  or  necessary  rascality,  shall  be  placed  to  your 
credit" 

For  a  few  moments  he  was  silent.  Prom  the  drawing 
rooms,  now  a  little  nearer,  came  the  music  of  high  spirits, 
with  one  note  sweeter  than  all  the  rest,  Rose's  note,  the 
Poet  knew.  He  waited,  yearning  for  more.  The  old 
man  spoke. 

"  I  expected  more  trouble.  I  had  faith  in  your  — 
imagination,  but  didn't  expect  it  to  work  so  quickly." 
He  mused,  and  then  —  "  I  should  think.  Mr.  Howerson, 
that  the  greatest  achievement  of  the  school  is  to  enable 
a  man  to  explore  his  own  imagination.  The  self-made*'' 
man  has  imagination  —  more,  perhaps,  than  the  scholar, 
but  it  is  irregular.  In  it  there  are  eaves  where  great 
images  hide  themselves.  The  trouble  with  our  statesmen 
is  not  commercialism,  but  want  of  imagination.  The 
cheese  knife  has  no  imagination,  but  the  reaping 
machine — "  He  broke  off  abruptly.  He  was  violating 
the  traditions  of  the  room,  and  the  Poet,  wise  enough  to 
understand,  was  silent.  ...  How  was  he  to  promote 
the  interest  of  Yal  Watkins  ?  "Wherry  had  lied  about  the 
special  delivery.  This  might  in  some  way  offer  an  open 
ing  and  while  he  was  seeking  to  employ  it,  the  old  man 
spoke: 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Howerson,  the  preacher  who  mar 
ried  your  aunt  —  the  missionary,  you  know  —  called  on 


THE  INQUISITION  269 

me  the  other  day."  The  blank  look  of  Howerson 's 
countenance  brought  a  smile,  another  violation  of 
tradition. 

"  W  — w  — what!    I  have  no  aunt,  Mr.  Whatetey." 

"  Ha,  an  imposter.    I  thought  so." 

He  told  of  the  visit  of  Hudsic,  and  Howerson  felt  his 
interest  fly  from  Watkins  and  center  upon  himself.  He 
must  at  once  contrive  some  excuse  for  getting  out  of 
town,  if  for  no  longer  than  even  a  week.  Beyond  that 
length  of  time  he  could  not  see  himself.  Other  men 
might  lay  plans  that  involved  years,  but  the  diagram  of 
his  conduct  must  be  drawn  afresh,  day  by  day.  Sud 
denly  there  came  into  his  mind  fragments  he  had  Caught 
of  a  conversation  between  two  men  at  a  hotel  in  New 
Orleans. 

"  I  suspected,"  said  "Whateley,  "  that  he  might  be  in 
some  way  implicated  with  the  strike  out  yonder.'* 

"  One  of  the  stirrers-up  no  doubt,*'  Howerson  replied, 
with  an  artful  carelessness.  "  By  the  way,  Mr.  "Whate 
ley,  while  in  New  Orleans  I  chanced  to  overhear  some 
thing  that  might  possibly  be  of  interest  to  you.  I 
chanced  to  hear  two  men  talking.  Up  in  Ontario,  Canada, 
at  Sturgeon  Falls,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
north  of  Toronto,  there  is  perhaps  as  complete  a  water 
power  as  exists  anywhere  on  this  continent.  A  number 
of  years  ago  an  English  company  harnessed  the  power 
and  established  there  a  great  paper  mill,  which,  owing 
largely  to  the  handiness  of  all  needed  material,  became 
an  immediate  success.  But  after  several  years  of  pros 
perity  there  came  a  strike.  The  Englishmen  became 
impatient  with  the  men,  closed  down  and  returned  home. 
It  appears  that  this  great  property  can  now  be  acquired 
for  less  than  one-half  the  original  cost ;  perhaps  at  one- 
third.  The  material  for  pulp  is  practically  inexhaustible. 


270  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Capital,  especially  American  capital,  has  closed  its  eyes 
upon  this  great  opportunity,  and  purely  on  account  of 
the  tariff  over  here.  But  this  barbaric  wall  cannot  stand 
always.  It  will  be  battered  down  by  the  progressive 
guns  of  all  parties,  and  then  that  water  power  will  be 
worth  millions.  The —  " 

Whateley  was  looking  down  at  the  letter  on  his  desk. 
' '  Proceed,  Mr.  Howerson. ' ' 

"  Thank  you.  I  didn't  know  but  you  might  be 
interested. ' ' 

' '  I  am,  sir.  It  might  be  an  immeasurable  opportunity. 
As  you  say,  that  tariff  wall  must  come  down.  The  party 
that  opposes  it  will  die.  Ah,  suppose  you  take  a  run 
over  there  and  quietly  look  around.  It  is  at  least  worth 
investigation. ' ' 

"  I  shall  leave  to-morrow  morning,  sir." 

''Very  good." 

Now  Howerson 's  interest  returned  to  Watkins.  "  Mr. 
"Wherry,  I  believe,  has  been  with  you  some  time." 

' '  Yes,  quite  a  while. ' ' 

' '  I  don 't  think  he  is  the  proper  man  for  the  position. ' ' 

"Eh?  " 

"  He  is  harsh,  and  is  devoid  of  sympathy.  I  saw  a 
little  boy  about  Calvin's  age,  shrink  back  from  him  as 
he  passed  along,  and —  " 

"  Eh?  " 

"  The  children  are  afraid  of  him.  I  intimated,  and 
rather  strongly,  too,  that  he  did  not  represent  your 
interest  as  he  should,  and  I  hinted  that  possibly  there 
might  be  a  change." 

"  Ah,  you  did?  " 

' '  And  he  laughed.    He  said  that  he  knew  too  much. ' ' 

"  Eh?  " 


THE  INQUISITION  271 

"  Knew  too  much." 

"  Knows  too  much,"  said  the  old  man.  "  That  is 
true.  He  does." 

It  looked  bad  for  Watkins.  Howerson  could  see  him 
walking  up  and  down  the  room  at  the  hotel,  could  see 
his  yellow  beard,  badge  of  gayety  and  of  melancholy. 

' '  He  knows  —  ' '  The  old  man  coughed.  ' '  He  knows 
that  he  owes  me  five  thousand  dollars,  overdrawn  salary. 
That  is  what  he  knows,  Mr.  Howerson.  But  he  needn't 
think  I'll  keep  him  on  account  of  that  five  thousand 
dollars.  And  you  told  him  there  might  be  a  change. 
You  told  him  right. ' ' 

The  Poet  could  see  Yal  walking  up  and  down  the  room. 
His  yellow  beard  caught  the  light  and  was  not  melan 
choly.  "  Mr.  Whateley,  I  know  the  man  to  take 
Wherry's  place." 

Whateley  looked  at  him.  "  Yes?  What  manner  of 
man  ?  Tell  me  about  him. ' ' 

"  A  man  of  good  address,  of  executive  sympathy —  " 

"  Of  what?  " 

"  A  man  who  knows  the  value  of  imagining  himself 
the  other  fellow.  He  understands  the  workings  of  a  coal 
mine,  his  father  having  practically,  you  might  say, 
brought  him  up  in  that  line." 

"  Yes?  "  The  old  man  seemed  to  turn  up  the  light 
of  his  eyes  into  a  searching  glare.  "  How  does  it  hap 
pen  that  he  is  in  need  of  a  place  now?  " 

Howerson  was  ready.  ' '  He  has  for  a  time  been  away 
from  the  mining  business,  has  been  traveling,  in  fact, 
but  knowing  his  fitness,  wishes  to  return  to  it."  And 
then  conscience  plucked  at  him.  "  The  fact  is,  Mr. 
Whateley,  he  was  unfortunate  and —  " 

"  I  don't  like  that." 


272  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  He  was  down,  Mr.  Whateley,  but  has  arisen;  and 
the  man  who  arises  is  sometimes  stronger  than  the  man 
who  has  never  sunk. ' ' 

"  Very  true,  sir." 

' '  And  I  hope  that  you  will  accept  my  —  my  pawned 
honor  in  his  behalf,  and  give  him  an  immediate  trial." 

' '  On  your  recommendation,  Mr.  Howerson,  I  will  give 
him  a  trial,  certainly.  The  salary  is  five  thousand  a  year. 
Let  him  see  me  at  the  office  to-morrow  morning  at  ten 
o'clock." 

The  old  man's  countenance  said  "  that  ends  it,"  How 
erson  said  "  thank  you,"  and  was  out  in  the  great  hall 
where  chattering  strollers  amid  illumined  shrubbery 
might  have  fancied  themselves  in  an  enchanted  thicket. 
There  was  the  young  woman  from  whose  juicy  lips  slang 
fell  sweet,  and  the  bald-headed  Professor  of  Philology 
who  caught  it ;  and  there  was  the  young  buck  of  prosaic 
instinct,  striving  to  adorn  his  talk  with  the  trailing  vines 
of  sentiment.  Howerson  did  not  look  around,  did  not  see 
Rose,  but  he  thought  that  he  heard  long-legged  Smill 
talking  down  to  her,  the  confident  edict  of  monstrous 
wealth. 

When  he  entered  the  room  Watkins  was  dozing  on  the 
bed.  The  colonel  rose  up,  blinking,  stared  at  his  friend. 

"  Ah,  Colonel  Watkins." 

Watkins  leaped  from  the  bed  and  seized  Howerson 's 
hand. 

"  But  why  this  affecting  scene,  Colonel?  In  the 
language  of  Sir  John  to  all  Europe,  '  whose  mare's 
dead?'  What's  up?  " 

"  Why  that  position  is  up,  George  —  up  to  me.  If  the 
*  Big  Jolt  '  had  turned  you  down  you'd  have  called  me 
Yal  instead  of  Colonel.  You  don't  '  Colonel  '  me, 


THE  INQUISITION  273 

George,  except  as  a  guy,  and  you  don 't  guy  a  fellow  when 
he's  down." 

"  Right  you  are,  Professor." 

"  Professor!  " 

' '  Of  Psychology.  He  11  give  you  a  trial,  which  means 
the  job,  salary  five  thousand.  Call  at  his  aerie  at  ten 
to-morrow.  Let  go  my  paw." 

' '  But  aren  't  you  going  up  with  me,  George  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  I'm  off  for  Canada,  partly  on  business  but 
mostly  for  my  immediate  health.  Sit  down. ' ' 

Watkins  sat  down.  Howerson  took  a  turn  about  the 
room.  "  Immediate  health,  Colonel.  I  live  from  day 
to  day,  respite  granted  by  the  hours.  With  me  it  is  —  " 

"  So  do  we  all,  George.  Ancient  as  he  got  to  be,  old 
Parr  lived  only  from  second  to  second." 

"  Constant  experiment  with  death,  Colonel." 

"  Same  with  us  all,  old  man." 

' '  With  cold  breath  blowing  at  the  '  brief  candle, '  cry 
ing,  '  out,  out.'  But  let  hang-fire  Pistol  discharge  him 
self  of  his  news :  I  told  the  old  man  that  I  'd  pawn  my 
honor  in  your  behalf,  and  at  the  mention  of  honor  he 
didn't  smile,  but  with  gravity  accepted  my  gaze,  asked 
questions,  which  I  answered  with  a  brevity  almost  to 
the  suppression  of  a  syllable.  So  let  me  charge  you, 
be  brief.  Look  your  claim  and  don't  word  it.  Busi 
ness  accepts  silence  as  self-confidence.  Wear  your  silk 
hat,  Yal.  The  plug  hat  is  the  four-flush  of  civilization, 
but  business  hasn  't  found  it  out  yet  —  is  afraid  to 
'  call.'  " 

"  I'll  do  as  you  advise,  and  land  the  job  all  right. 
But,  George  —  look  at  me,  please." 

"All  right.    Go  ahead." 

' '  George,  it  seems  that  you  are  in  dread  of  something. 
What  is  it?  " 


274  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  That  one  of  my  poems  might  take  fire  by  spon 
taneous  combustion,  blaze  up  and  attract  attention." 

' '  Nonsense,  George ;  tell  me.  I  might  be  able  to  help 
you.  I'm  no  weakling.  I  can  face  odds  for  a  friend. 
Confound  it,  are  you  to  help  a  fellow  always  and  never 
let  him  help  you?  Look  what  you've  done  for  me  to 
night.  Look  what  you  are  always  doing  for  everybody 
and  always  have.  "While  a  vagabond  your  soul  was 
unselfish  —  I  remember  the  night  in  the  hay  when  you 
swore  you  were  too  warm  and  by  main  force  covered 
me  with  your  coat;  and  in  the  morning  there  was  frost 
on  your  hair.  And  now  when  possibly  I  might  be  able 
to  help  you,  to  stand  with  you  and  face  the  mysterious 
danger  you've  hinted  at  —  out  with  it,  George." 

On  the  foot  of  the  bed  Howerson  sat  down,  resting  an 
arm  on  the  brass  railing.  Upon  his  friend  he  smiled, 
called  him  a  dice  thrower;  and  when  Yal's  look  asked 
him  why,  he  answered  that  a  dice  thrower  was  always 
suspicious.  The  Poet  could  lie  to  a  friend  as  readily  and 
doubtless  with  as  much  zest  as  to  a  mere  acquaintance. 

"  I  am  threatened  with  no  mortal  danger,  Colonel, 
except  the  remote  danger  of  starvation,  inherited  enemy 
of  my  ilk.  And  I  am  not  yet  far  enough  out  of  the  briar 
patch  which  I  mistook  for  Arden  to  talk  horse  instead 
of  to  bray.  Braying  is  always  more  or  less  figurative 
you  know,  for  the  Ass  is  one  of  our  most  aptly  used 
figures  of  speech.  Ignorance  often  thinks  in  unhappy 
allusions,  and  to  the  degree  that  I  remain  a  poet,  I  am 
ignorant.  To  the  enlightened  a  word  is  a  sound,  to  the 
bard,  a  throb ;  one  is  of  the  head,  the  other  of  the  breast ; 
so  if  I  sometimes  throb,  and  a  little  out  of  rhythm,  pass 
it  up,  Colonel.  By  the  way,  I  saw  his  Longleglets.  And 
do  you  know  that  old  hag  Fate  is  playing  the  deuce  with 
our  drama?  " 


THE  INQUISITION  275 

"  How  so?  " 

"  Going  to  marry  Rose  Whateley  to  Longleglets. " 

"  Impossible,  George.    That  would  ruin  the  play." 

"  I  know  that.  But  many  a  play  has  been  ruined  — 
many  a  play  that  promised  well.  You  see,  this  fellow 
is  one  who,  favored  by  an  all- wise  government,  has  drawn 
seventy-five  millions  out  of  the  cradle  of  an  infant 
industry.  He  sells  steel  bridges  in  India  cheaper  than 
in  America.  And  he  hands  his  iron  words  down  to 
her,  and  she  takes  them,  tottering  under  their  weight. 
Oh,  he's  heavied  her  down  and  she  can't  get  away." 

"  Impossible,  George.  As  I  read  the  script  it  says 
that  you  are  to  marry  her.  Why,  that  is  plain  in  act 
one." 

"  I  marry  her!    Don't  be  a  fool,  Yal." 

"  I'll  try  not.  But  you  haven't  seen  all  the  lines  of 
the  play,  and  how  do  you  know  she  will  surrender  to 
Longleglets?  " 

' '  I  've  seen  as  many  of  the  lines  as  you  have,  Yal,  and 
—  didn  't  I  say  something  about  seventy-five  millions  ?  ' : 

Yal  nodded  his  acknowledgment  of  the  fact  that  this 
sum  of  money  had  been  mentioned. 

'  Very  well  then,"  Howerson  proceeded.  "  And  did 
you  ever  know  a  woman  to  turn  down  an  offer  made  by 
seventy- five  millions?  " 

'  Well,  I  've  never  known  very  many  women  who  were 
exposed  to  that  strong  a  draft.  And  I  don't  suppose 
there  are  many  poverty-stricken  dames  that  would  fail 
to  catch  the  tune  when  a  multiplied  millionaire  sings 
to  'em,  but  you  must  remember  that  the  Big  Jolt  has 
no  slouch  of  a  purse  himself.  Do  you  recall  our  great 
Shakespearean  revival  over  the  market  house  in  Janes- 
burg,  when  you  padded  out  for  Falstaff  ?  " 


276  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Yes,  but  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  Yal,  some 
times  you  are  as  zigzag  at  the  flight  of  a  butterfly. ' ' 

' '  Ah-hah ;  and  you  recollect  old  Sir  John  says,  '  Hook 
on,  hook  on. '  You  used  to  put  a  mighty  fetch  into  those 
words,  George.  You  let  that  steel  man  have  his  heavy 
say,  and  when  he's  done,  '  hook  on,  hook  on.'  ' 

"Yal—" 

"Yes,  George." 

"  You  go  to  the  devil.  I'm  going  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
SLAPPED  HIS  FACE  WITH  A  LOOK 

On  his  way  to  Whateley's  office  Watkins  rehearsed 
himself.  With  steady  eye  he  would  meet  sharp  look, 
and  with  short  and  confident  words  beat  down  all  sus 
picion  as  to  his  want  of  aptitude  for  the  job.  Was  not 
his  beard  most  shrewdly  trimmed,  and  was  not  his  plug 
hat  rich  in  harvest  of  the  sun's  luster?  He  wished  that 
old  George  were  there  to  view  his  grand  entry.  It  would 
make  the  Poet  proud,  delight  his  sad  sense  of  humor; 
and  to  Yal,  George's  approving  twinkle  was  a  knight 
hood,  a  gold-buckled  garter  of  the  heart. 

In  the  waiting  room  Big  Jim  poured  over  Watkins 
the  lazy  waves  of  a  slow  look,  but  Jim's  slowness  was  all 
mental,  for  with  springy  heel  he  ambled  in  to  announce 
the  expected  visitor.  Watkins  fidgeted  with  himself. 

' '  Step  in,  sir, ' '  said  Jim. 

He  stepped  in.  Whateley  glanced  at  him  and  with 
one  look  slapped  his  face  red.  "  Ah,  Mr.  Watkins,  I 
believe.  Mr.  Howerson  has  doubtless  explained  to  you. 
I  have  telegraphed  Wherry.  You  will  leave  for  Rock- 
ville  at  once.  Good  day." 

And  without  having  had  a  chance  to  utter  one  of  his 
confident  words,  Yal  was  out  in  the  anteroom,  in  the 
corridor,  pushing  the  button  of  the  elevator. 

"  Confound  him,  what  was  the  use  of  my  coming? 
Wouldn  't  know  me  now  if  he  'd  see  me  sitting  on  a  stump. 
Dazzled  me  with  his  lamps  and  told  me  to  get  out. 
Didn't  see  my  —  where  is  that  damned  hat?  "  He 

277 


278  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

clapped  his  hand  to  his  head,  knocked  his  hat  off;  and 
a  messenger  boy  shouted  his  laughter  down  the  hall. 

But  as  Yal  hastened  through  the  street  he  mused: 
"  I've  got  the  job,  though,  and  nothing  else  counts  for 
much. ' ' 

He  took  off  his  hat  to  mop  his  brow,  and  then  he  was 
conscious  that  a  woman  had  turned  quickly  out  of  the 
crowd  and  was  standing  beside  him.  "  I  didn't  know 
you  until  you  took  off  your  hat,"  she  said. 

He  felt  elated,  witty.  A  great  financier  had  flattered 
him  with  a  look.  ' '  When  a  man 's  hat  is  off  he  has  sur 
rendered  to  a  woman,"  he  replied;  and  with  a  bow: 
' '  Begging  pardon,  but  would  you  mind  letting  me  know 
who  I  am  to  you  now  that  my  hat's  off?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  he  smiled  at  her,  but  her 
lips  were  tight.  "  You  have  an  ungrateful  memory," 
she  said. 

"  Maybe  so,"  he  admitted,  "  but  at  least  not  a  very 
reproachful  one.  Let  me  see.  You  are  —  are  —  ' ' 

"  I  am  Annie  Zondish." 

' '  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon. ' ' 

"  Granted.  Clothes  not  only  disguise  us  but  blunt  owr 
perceptions. ' ' 

"  Good.  Wisdom  cries  out  in  the  street  but  one  man 
does  take  heed,  which  cues  us  up  to  —  your  pleasure, 
Miss  Zondish." 

She  wore  a  red  cap  not  much  larger  than  a  saucer. 
Her  hair  fell  loose  and  the  wind  tangled  it  about  her 
face.  With  nervous  hand  she  brushed  it  from  her  eyes. 

' '  Can  you  give  me  five  minutes  of  your  time  ?  ' ' 

"  Raise  you  five.    Ten,"  he  answered. 

"  Thank  you.    Down  in  here." 

She  led  him  down  into  a  basement  chop  house,  and 
when  they  had  sat  down  she  ordered  a  pot  of  tea.  He 


SLAPPED  HIS  FACE  WITH  A  LOOK       279 

asked  her  if  she  would  not  do  him  the  honor  of  eating 
something,  and  she  shook  her  head.  She  told  him  that 
he  was  her  guest,  smiling  across  at  him,  leaning  on  the 
table.  Silently  he  admired  the  gleaming  whiteness  of 
her  shapely  throat.  He  would  take  nothing,  he  said; 
he  would  sit  by  while  she  drank  her  tea.  He  wondered 
what  she  could  want  with  him.  Doubtless  she  credited 
his  reformation  to  herself.  He  waited.  .  .  .  The  tea 
was  poured  for  her  and  she  sipped  it  slowly,  from  a 
spoon,  having  much  trouble  with  stray  locks  of  wind- 
tugged  hair.  She  looked  at  the  spoon,  appeared  not 
to  like  it,  wiped  it  with  a  corner  of  the  table  cloth. 
He  waited. 

"  Where  is  your  friend?  "  she  inquired,  looking  at 
the  spoon. 

"Friend?    What  friend?  " 

"  Didn't  you  go  to  a  hotel  with  a  man  last  night?  " 

She  looked  straight  into  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,  with  George  Howerson,"  and  then  flashed 
through  his  mind  the  Poet's  vague  hint  of  coming 
trouble.  Ah,  and  this  woman  might  be  hidden  some 
where  in  the  folds  of  its  mystery.  To  gallantry,  old 
George  was  not  unknown,  and  Zondish  was  possessed  of 
a  wild  berry  lip. 

"  Charming  fellow,  isn't  he?  "  she  said. 

"  Prince,  and  as  true  to  his  own  as  a  robber  in 
romance. ' ' 

"  Oh.  And  you  have  doubtless  known  him  for  a  long 
time?  " 

He  nodded.  "  We  used  to  turn  one  set  of  mules  out 
of  the  barn,  advertise  for  another  set  and  give  'em 
Shakespeare. ' ' 

"  Ah,  you  were  on  the  stage  with  him." 

"  Well,  I  was  in  the  manger  with  him." 


280  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  The  last  time  I  met  him —  Oh,  quite  a  while  ago,  he 
was  thinking  of  going  back  to  the  stage.  Is  he  still  of 
that  notion?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  he  had  such  a  notion.  Back  to  the 
stage?  "  He  gripped  the  edge  of  the  table,  gazing  at 
her,  glaring  in  truth,  for  his  spirit  was  aroused. 
' '  Stage !  There  is  no  stage.  There  is  a  song  and  dance 
called  the  stage,  but  the  drama,  the  drama  made  glor 
ious  by  the  human  voice  in  perfection,  is  dead.  Shadows 
that  struck  terror  to  King  Richard  have  killed  it;  I 
mean  the  motion  picture.  Once  Art  addressed  the  soul, 
but  now  the  jealous  eye  —  ' ' 

With  a  gesture  she  reaped  him  from  his  theme.  She 
said  that  all  art  had  its  time  to  die  and  must  die  when 
the  time  came.  But  who  in  the  automobile  weeps  over 
the  oxcart  stalled  in  the  mire?  Mr.  Howerson  was  no 
doubt  wise  enough  to  understand,  and  after  all,  why 
should  he  think  of  returning  to  poetic  poverty  when  he 
could  live  in  unpoetic  affluence  ?  ' '  And  I  know  he  must 
be  prosperous  now,"  she  said. 

' '  Well,  he 's  not  compelled  to  eat  garlic  in  a  windmill, ' ' 
he  declared,  eyeing  her  shrewdly. 

"  As  I  say,  it  has  been  some  time  since  I  saw  him. 
Has  he  changed  much  ?  What  are  his  habits  ?  Tell  me. ' ' 

"  Well,  unless  otherwise  employed  he  does  something 
else." 

She  frowned  at  him,  drank  from  the  cup,  had  more 
trouble  with  her  hair.  "  You  might  at  least  answer  a 
civil  question  from  one  —  ' ' 

"  From  one  whom  I  have  occasion  to  remember  grate 
fully.  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  haven't  been  with  him 
enough  of  late  to  know  what  his  habits  are,  if  he  has 
formed  any,  but  if  you  wish  to  know  whether  he  is  true 


SLAPPED  HIS  FACE  WITH  A  LOOK       281 

to  his  old  friends,  I  can  tell  you  that  he  is.  No  nobler 
heart  beats." 

Winsomely  she  smiled  upon  him.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear 
you  say  that.  But  lest  you  think  me  too  inquisitive  let 
me  say  that  between  us  there  was  nothing  more  than 
friendship.  Do  you  believe  me?  " 

"  Your  words,  yes;  but  your  eyes,  your  throat, 
your  —  ' ' 

"  No  rubbish  please,"  she  broke  in.  And  then  she 
asked :  ' '  Where  is  he  now  ?  ' '  She  looked  down  into  the 
cup. 

' '  He 's  gone  abroad. ' ' 

Her  eyes  flashed  in  his  face.  "  Are  you  telling  me  the 
truth?  " 

"  Didn't  you  remind  me  just  now  that  I  had  cause  to 
be  grateful  to  you?  Then  why  should  I  tell  you  an 
untruth?  " 

The  light  of  her  eyes  seemed  to  beat  upon  his  face 
with  throbbing  heat,  and  he  felt  that  she  held  him  in 
scorn. 

' '  Grateful  to  me !  Man  at  some  vague  time  may  have 
been  grateful  to  man,  but  never  to  woman.  Every  man 
that  has  ever  lived  has  at  some  moment  of  his  life  been 
a  scoundrel  to  woman.  That 's  why  you  would  lie  to  me. 
It  is  your  inheritance.  It  is  in  your  blood." 

' '  Sorry  you  didn  't  come  to  the  stage  before  the  drama 
turned  up  its  toes,"  he  said.  "  Old  John  McCullough 
would  have  gloried  in  you,  and  Booth,  the  Hamlet  of  us 
all  —  you  wouldn  't  suppose  I  'd  ever  played  Hamlet.  I 
know  you  wouldn't;  but  I  have  and  it  was  a  hit  —  with 
a  potato.  If  it  had  been  baked  and  a  trifle  of  salt  and 
butter  had  been  tossed  with  it,  I  — •  " 

"  Answer  my  question.  Are  you  telling  me  the 
truth?  " 


282  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"To  go  abroad  is  to  leave  one's  country,  isn't  it?  " 

' '  Yes, ' '  she  nodded  without  speaking,  looking  straight 
into  his  eyes. 

"  Then  on  the  honor  of  a  man  who  has  none  to  throw 
away,  he  has  gone  abroad  —  left  early  this  morning. ' ' 

"  Will  he  sail  from  New  York?  " 

' '  On  the  honor  of  a  man  who  knows  what  it  is  to  smell 
high  fish  in  the  Ghetto,  I  believe  not." 

And  now  her  eyes  held  the  dark  glow  of  contempt. 
"  Lying  is  an  American  trait  and  they  call  it  humor," 
she  said.  ' '  You  would  lie  to  a  distress,  joke  with  Job. ' ' 

' '  I  have  joked  with  Abraham,  and  he  ticketed  my  jest 
and  put  it  into  his  safe." 

' '  And  with  every  word  you  are  proving  what  I  say. ' ' 

"  I  talk,  then,  in  the  interest  of  truth." 

"  You  illustrate  a  truth  to  enforce  a  lie." 

"  With  your  metaphysical  mace  you  dent  my  helmet. 
Come  to  Hecuba.  What's  it  all  about?  Put  yourself 
to  the  strain  of  a  little  truth  as  you  go  along,  and  tell 
me  your  real  object  in  wanting  to  know  where  Howerson 
is." 

' '  My  object  concerns  me,  and  is  not  what  you  believe 
it  to  be." 

"  All  right.  I'll  swear  to  you  that  by  to-morrow 
night  he  will  be  out  of  the  United  States." 

She  got  up,  and  as  he  arose  she  said:  "  It  may  be 
possible  that  you  are  telling  me  the  truth.  Woman  must 
keep  on  believing  man,  though  she  may  know  better. 
Civilization  means  man's  enacted  lie.  You  with  the 
rest  are  a  traitor.  You  have  sold  yourself  for  a  silk 
hat." 

"  Hold  on,  Miss  Zondish;  don't  leave  out  a  clean 
shirt." 

She  had   a   sense   of  humor,   and   she   laughed,    but 


SLAPPED  HIS  FACE  WITH  A  LOOK       283 

resented  it  instantly  and  turned  it  into  a  cough.  She 
lingered,  adjusting  her  cap.  "  You  are  an  ungrateful 
wretch, ' '  she  said.  ' '  I  gathered  you  up  out  of  an  alley. 
Better  had  I  let  you  die.  Better,  too,  that  I  had  let 
someone  else  die." 

' '  Wait  a  minute, ' '  he  spoke  pleadingly  and  she  turned 
toward  him.  "  Someone  else.  Then  you  saved  old 
George,  too.  For  that  piece  of  work  I  am  deeply  grate 
ful.  And  as  for  myself  I  thank  you,  but  with  me  it 
didn't  matter  so  much." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  he  held  forth  his  hand,  but 
she  drew  back,  and  without  speaking,  turned  away  and 
left  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
'WANTED:  A  MODEL  HOME 

In  the  Whateley  mansion  the  drama  spun  by  the 
ancient  spider  was  of  a  finer  texture  than  the  Poet, 
traveling  northward  from  Toronto,  dreamed  it  to  be. 
The  great  ironmonger  was  there,  talking  down,  and  with 
appreciative  attention  the  young  woman  listened  to  him, 
sometimes  with  a  smile  too  delicate  for  him  to  discern 
in  the  library's  daylight  mist,  in  the  soft  glow  that  old 
books  seem  ever  to  shed. 

He  had  come  West  on  business,  first  of  all  things, 
surely.  At  Gary  he  had  "  reviewed  "  the  thundering  of 
creative  monsters,  the  bellowings  of  earth-shaking  blasts, 
and  had  discovered  that  fewer  noises  were  wasted  there 
than  in  any  of  the  other  steel  mills  of  the  smoke-belching 
world.  But  during  more  than  a  week  he  had  surrendered 
himself  not  to  the  demands  but  to  the  occasion  of 
sentiment. 

In  the  library,  confident  and  thankful  unto  himself, 
he  talked  of  the  things  that  he  knew  and  brushed  aside 
the  truths  not  yet  honored  with  his  acquaintance.  He 
sat  leaning  against  a  table  and  at  his  elbow  lay  some  of 
the  old  man's  early  friends,  bound  in  heavy  leather. 

"  I  am  indebted  to  you,  Miss  Whateley,  for,  I  might 
say,  the  pleasantest  visit  of  my  life." 

"  In  saying  so,  Mr.  Smill,  you  add  to  my  pleasure. 
I  thank  you." 

He  picked  up  a  book,  looked  at  it  and  put  it  down. 
"  Er  —  I  trust  you  will  pardon  my  speaking  frankly." 

284 


WANTED:  A  MODEL  HOME  285 

"  Yes,"  she  said  looking  him  in  the  eye. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  very  frankly." 

Again  she  said  "  Yes,"  still  looking  him  in  the  eye. 

His  hand  wandered  about  in  quest  of  another  book, 
found  it,  brought  it  around  in  front  of  him;  then  he 
looked  at  it  and  put  it  aside. 

"  I  have  met  you  several  times  before  the  present 
visit.  Four  times  —  perhaps  five.  And  I  should  think 
that  by  now  you  have  become  pretty  well  acquainted 
with  my  nature." 

Not  in  the  least  was  she  embarrassed,  and  he  seemed 
rather  taken  aback  that  she  did  not  blush  a  disguised 
welcome  of  this  marvelous  and  suggestive  news. 

"  Natures  are  not  short  stories  to  be  read  at  one  sit 
ting,  ' '  she  said. 

He  brightened,  "  Ah,  but  a  deep  book  may  be  read  in 
five  sittings." 

"  And  then  not  understood,"  she  protested. 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  we  read  appreciatively,"  he  declared, 
pleased  with  his  argument. 

He  was  getting  close,  "  warm  "  the  children  used  to 
say  in  the  game  of  "  Hide  the  Switch."  She  said  that 
appreciation  ought  to  but  did  not  always  lend  to  one  a 
mind  wherewith  to  understand.  "  And  some  books,  like 
some  natures,  are  too  deep  ever  to  be  wholly 
comprehended. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  but  my  nature  is  not  one  of  them, ' '  he  said,  his 
countenance  brightening. 

Of  this  truth  she  was  keenly  aware.  He  looked  as 
if  he  were  about  to  pursue  this  pleasing  thought,  to 
become  better  acquainted  with  it,  and  she  waited. 

"  My  nature  is  simple,  Miss  Rose.  I  have  tried  to 
keep  it  such.  I  rejoice  that  I  am  practical.  I  —  " 


286  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

She  could  not  let  this  pass.  "  Dreamers  discover 
worlds,"  she  said. 

' '  Very  true,  but  some  humorous  versifier  —  forgotten 
his  name  —  said  there  aren  't  any  worlds  to  discover  just 
now.  I_» 

11  Ben  King,"  she  said.  "  He  did  not  awake  one 
morning  to  find  himself  famous,  but  died  one  night  to 
bring  fame  to  his  town. ' ' 

He  bowed.  "  Yes,  I  had  forgotten.  But  as  I  was 
going  to  say,  I  think  but  don't  dream.  The  dreamer 
visions  happiness  that  never  comes.  The  idealist  lives 
by  ecstatic  leaps  and  eventually  falls  in  the  dark.  The 
practical  man  possesses,  and  the  owners  of  the  earth  are 
more  to  be  envied  than  the  renters. ' ' 

"  The  owners  are  more  envied,"  she  agreed,  with  a 
smile  too  faint  for  him  to  see. 

' '  And  by  dreamers, ' '  he  urged.  ' '  There  are  men  who 
carp  at  Mr.  Carnegie  while  envying  him." 

She  caught  the  intent  of  this  allusion.  She  could  hear 
Howerson's  words,  "  burning  out  their  eyes  with  gazing 
into  the  bubbling  metal  of  the  melting  pots,"  and  now 
this  man  saw  her  smile  but  mistook  its  meaning.  ' '  Am 
I  not  right,  Miss  Rose?  " 

"  From  your  viewpoint,  yes,"  she  said.  "  But  such 
questions  are  not  with  profit  to  be  argued.  We  all  of  us 
seem  to  have  made  up  our  minds,  we  don't  know  when. 
I  know  that  to  the  practical  we  owe  the  gathering  of 
wealth,  when  the  dreamer  has  made  it  possible,  and  that 
wealth  beautifies  the  earth;  but  the  mountains  arise  in 
their  grandeur  and  upon  them  rest  the  blazing  clouds 
and—" 

"  And  but  for  the  practical  mind  those  of  us  who  are 
remote  could  not  go  to  see  them.  I  think  you  agree 
with  me." 


WANTED:  A  MODEL  HOME  287 

f'1  Let  us  say  that  I  do.  And  then  what  have  we 
arrived  at  ?  "  She  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were  a  trades 
man  offering  to  sell  her  something.  He  was  educated, 
learned  in  a  way,  wise ;  but  education,  learning,  wisdom 
may  be  dry  and  awkward  in  "  making  love."  She 
resented  his  want  of  emotion.  Why,  a  cane-mouthing 
fop,  floating  back  now  from  a  summer's  evening  amid 
vines  and  beside  sleeping  water,  had  shown  more  of  soul. 
She  was  waiting,  knowing  what  was  coming,  half 
angered  by  its  foreseen  dryness. 

"  We  don't  seem  to  be  arriving  at  any  definite  con 
clusion,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause.  "  And  I  was 
wondering  if  I  had  started  in  aright.  Perhaps  not." 

He  paused  again.  "  Miss  Whateley,  I  am  going  to 
be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  perhaps  blunt.  As  you 
must  know  I  am  a  man  of  large  fortune;  and,  as  I 
believe,  you  are  ambitious  to  do  great  good  in  the  world. 
I  can  enable  you  to  realize  this  ambition  —  I  beg  your 
pardon.  I  am  aware  that  your  father  is  a  man  of  large 
wealth,  and  I  —  " 

'  You  didn't  mean  to  talk  to   me  as  if  I  were  a 
visionary  pauper."    She  laughed. 

"  Oh,  not  in  the  least  —  not  at  all.  I  am  talking  to 
you  in  the  full  knowledge  of  what  I  know  you  to  be,  the 
remarkable  daughter  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of 
men.  And  I  believe  that  nature,  and  opportunity,  if 
you  will  consent  to  permit  it,  design  you  for  some  note 
worthy  purpose.  It  has  been  remarked,  and,  indeed, 
by  some  of  my  friends,  that  I  have  made  the  power 
growing  out  of  money  the  ambition  of  my  life.  But 
this  is  not  true.  I  have  other  ambitions ;  and  one  of  them 
and  I  may  say  not  the  least,  is  to  establish  the  model 
home  of  America,  graced  by  a  handsome  woman  with 
broad  and  cultivated  intellect." 


288  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

With  a  smile  she  looked  up  at  him  as  he  talked  down 
to  her.  "  A  worthy  ambition,  I  think,"  she  said. 

By  bending  slightly  toward  her  he  lowered  the  height 
from  which  his  words  fell.  "  Thank  you.  I  thought 
you  would  agree  with  me.  You  know,  of  course,  that 
Europe  casts  upon  us  the  reproach  that  we  have  no 
homes.  Well,  that  reproach  shall  be  modified  to  the 
acknowledgment  that  we  have  at  least  one  home.  Per 
mit  me  to  say,  our  home,  for  you  must  have  —  er  — 
surmised  by  my  words  that  I  ask  you  to  help  me  make 
it.  You  will  help  me  to  establish  this  home  ?  ' ' 

Again  he  lessened  his  altitude,  just  a  trifle,  and  waited 
with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  I  thank  you  very  much  for  your  compliment, 
Mr.  Smill ;  it  was  very  thoughtful  and  indeed  most  gal 
lant  of  you,  but  I  am  so  busy  now  that  —  ' ' 

Up  he  went  to  his  wonted  altitude,  as  Rose  paused 
trickily  to  give  him  the  chance  to  interrupt  her.  "  Is 
it  possible  you  do  not  comprehend  me?  Miss  Whateley, 
I  have  asked  you  to  be  my  wife." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Smill." 

He  gave  her  a  three-inch  bow,  perhaps  three  and  a 
half.  "  Surely  you  must  have  understood  me  all  along, 
must  have  known  why  I  lingered  here  in  the  pleasurable 
neglect  of  most  urgent  affairs.  Surely  it  can't  be  that 
you  have  led  me  on  merely  for  your  own  amusement.  It 
may  be  true  that  woman  at  times  ridicules  almost  every 
thing,  but  I  have  never  known  one  to  make  sport  of  a 
heart  offering  itself  to  her." 

The  light  of  mischief  faded. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Smill,  but  I  was  not  sup 
posed  to  know  your  intentions ;  at  any  rate,  not  to  guess 
at  them  in  advance." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  he  spoke  up.     "I  can't  very 


WANTED:  A  MODEL  HOME  289 

well  say  what  I  did  mean  —  except  that  you  must  know 
that  to  cover  an  exposed  —  ah  —  tenderness,  we  catch 
at  an  abruptness." 

But  embarrassment  did  not  long  remain  upon  him. 
Modesty  if  poor  of  purse  may  splutter  a  long  time,  but 
timidity  possessed  of  millions  soon  finds  its  lost  head. 

"  Miss  "Whateley,  I  hope  you  will  permit  me  to  say 
that  I  am  greatly  astonished." 

He  sat  high,  looking  down  upon  her,  with  an  air  that 
said,  "  I  will  hand  back  the  decision  handed  up  to  me 
from  below. ' '  He  resumed :  "I  am  greatly  astonished, 
Miss  Whateley,  and  I  request  you  to  reconsider.  My 
friends  say  that  I  am  not  sentimental,  some  indeed  have 
termed  me  peculiar,  and  in  a  measure  both  estimates  of 
my  character  may  be  true;  but  did  you  ever  consider 
what  in  my  mind  is  a  fact :  that  the  sentimental  tempera 
ment  ruins  more  homes  than  it  establishes?  You  don't 
like  to  think  that  ?  No ;  but  I  am  convinced  of  its  truth. 
Passion  is,  I  might  say,  a  violence  followed  by  repent 
ance,  and  repentance  of  love  means  the  disruption  of  a 
household.  Temperance,  common  sense  applied  to  the 
affairs  of  the  heart,  is  the  home-builder,  the  home-keeper. 
Am  I  right?  " 

"  Wisdom  would  ask  folly  for  confirmation,"  she 
said,  mischief  again  in  her  eyes. 

He  shook  his  altitudinous  head.  "  I  am  serious;  and 
how  can  you  treat  a  serious  subject  so  lightly?  Please 
be  just  with  me,  and  with  yourself.  Estimate  the 
advantages  of  the  position  I  offer  you." 

She  smiled  up  at  him.  "  If  you  were  poor  I  could 
listen  with  more  distress,  for  then  you  would  urge  more 
tenderly." 

"  Good  gracious,  Miss  Whateley,  does  a  woman  wish 
to  be  distressed?  " 


290  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Yes,  "she  nodded. 

"  I  don't  think  so;  I  don't  want  to  think  so  —  don't 
see  why  she  should  wish  to  be  distressed.  Is  it  that  she 
likes  to  see  the  man  distressed?  " 

"  Yes,  and  catch  distress  from  him.  It  is  sweeter 
when  caught  that  way." 

' '  And,  Miss  Whateley,  would  you  be  moved  by  my  — 

"  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Smill —  "  she  began  in  genuine 
pity  at  the  note  of  appeal  in  his  voice. 

"  Then  you  refuse  to  be  my  wife?  "he  interrupted 
with  a  return  of  his  haughty  manner. 

"  Let  us  say  that  I  decline." 

"  Oh,  what's  the  difference,"  he  cried  impatiently. 

"  Not  much,"  she  admitted,  "  except  that  one  is  more 
delicate  than  the  other." 

"  But  what  will  your  father  say  when  he  knows  that 
you  have  declined  to  be  my  wife?  ' 

He  looked  her  in  the  eye,  and  steady-eyed  she 
answered:  "  He  will  say  to  me,  '  Eh,  what  else  have 
you  been  doing  to-day  ?  ' 

"  No  he  won't.  I  £how  that  he  will  be  disappointed. 
Er  —  he  and  I  had  planned  investments.  He  will  take 
you  to  task." 

' '  As  he  did  once  in  Florida  when  I  hooked  what  must 
have  been  the  biggest  tarpon  of  the  season  and  let  it 
get  away:  '  Eh,  he  had  a  hard  fight  and  a  narrow 
escape.'  ' 

"  Ah,  a  new  turn.    Now  you  compare  me  to  a  fish." 

"  The  biggest  of  the  season.  You  might  take  some 
comfort  in  that.  No,  I  beg  your  pardon.  But,  Mr.  Smill, 
you  won't  let  me  be  natural.  Perhaps  I  am  peculiar  at 
my  best,  but  you  put  me  at  my  worst.  I  tried  to  be  sad 
and  sympathetic,  but  you  wouldn't  let  me.  Of  all 


WANTED:  A  MODEL  HOME  291 

occasions  it  is  the  time  when  woman,  educated  or  illit 
erate,  loves  most  to  shed  the  sweet  tear." 

' '  You  are  still  laughing  at  me.  Most  unnatural.  .  .  . 
Miss  Whateley,  I  must  bid  you  good-bye. ' ' 

They  arose  and  stood  facing  each  other,  unnaturally 
at  ease.  He  held  forth  his  hand  and  frankly  she  met 
it  with  her  own,  permitted  him  for  a  brief  time  to  hold 
it,  long  enough  to  say,  "  You  are  a  beautiful  woman." 

Gently  she  withdrew  her  hand.    He  lingered,  spoke : 

"  But  what  can  we  expect  in  an  age  when  woman 
clamors  for  the  ballot?  Instead  of  accepting  man  as 
her  companion  and  protector,  she  spars  with  him  for 
supremacy ;  and,  Miss  Whateley,  if  the  real  thinkers 
among  us  did  not  see  the  grave  consequences  to  which  it 
tends,  it  would  be  —  I  might  say,  amusing.  But  why 
should  I  wait  to  hear  you  speak  again,  since  I  know  it 
will  be  nothing  in  my  favor?  " 

Again  he  sought  her  hand  but  it  did  not  come  forth  to 
meet  his  own.  "  But  in  favor  of  both  of  us,"  she  said, 
and  then  in  solemn  voice  she  added:  "  I  could  do  you 
and  myself  no  greater  harm  than  to  be  your  wife.  For 
both  of  us  it  would  mean  unhappiness.  The  air  of  the 
only  home  in  America  would  be  chill  and  comfortless. 
You  and  I  could  never  be  companions  in  silence,  and  the 
most  serious  quarrel  is  the  quarrel  when  no  word  is 
spoken.  We  —  ' ' 

"  Miss  Whateley,"  he  broke  in,  "  who  is  it  that  has 
staged  your  household?  Begging  your  pardon,  but  I 
think  I  know.  I  think  I  have  met  him,  here ;  and  I  shall 
take  occasion  to  say  to  your  father  that  this  phrase-maker 
will  if  given  the  rein,  run  to  ruin  with  his  affairs. ' ' 

Softly  she  laughed,  and  like  the  notes  of  the  catbird, 
deep  in  her  throat.  "  Oh,  you  mean  Mr.  Howerson. 


292  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

But  you  have  turned  phrase-maker  too.  Did  you  catch 
it  from  him?  " 

"  I  have  caught  nothing  from  him,  except  this  sug 
gestion,  that  I  could  in  all  honesty,  and  in  modesty,  too, 
I  hope,  give  you  a  word  of  warning." 

"Which  is?  " 

"  Beware  of  him.  I  am  not  speaking  as  a  rejected 
suitor  but  as  a  man  of  the  business  world.  I  inferred 
that  he  calls  himself  a  poet ;  and  it  is  the  pleasure  of  the 
poet  to  feel  that  all  established  order  is  against  him. 
He  makes — the  poet  in  general  —  a  showy  virtue  of 
sneering  at  money,  but  in  private  borrows  from  men 
he  affects  to  despise  and  repays  them  in  the  coin  of 
ingratitude." 

"  What  phrases!  "  she  laughed. 

He  bowed.  "  And  if  he  knows  anything  he  knows 
that  the  successful  commercial  man  has  a  better  library, 
is  better  read  and  has  seen  more  of  travel  than  he  can 
in  his  poverty  ever  hope  to  see.  Of  all  husbands,  Miss 
Whateley,  poets  are  the  worst." 

She  assumed  astonishment.  "  Oh,  is  that  true?  I 
thought  Pittsburgh  steel  men  were. ' ' 

He  was  not  offended.  "  I  admit  that  our  class  is  not 
above  reproach.  But  we  are  possible.  Poets  are  not." 

He  turned  toward  the  door,  but  she  spoke  his  name 
and  quickly  he  faced  about,  eagerness  fresh-born  in  his 
eyes.  "  Yes,  Miss  Whateley." 

She  dropped  him  a  courtesy  in  which  there  may  have 
been  a  sly  mockery.  "  I  did  not  wish  you  to  go,  Mr. 
Smill— " 

' '  No, ' '  came  from  him  with  the  suddenness  of  a  start. 

"To  go  believing  that  I  agree  with  what  you  say 
about  poets." 

"Oh!"    He  drooped  —  and  waited. 


WANTED:  A  MODEL  HOME  293 

"  You  get  from  the  poet  the  language  in  which  you 
denounce  him.  Without  him  and  his  kind  there  would  be 
no  libraries  for  millionaires  to  buy,  and  no  travel  except 
in  an  oxcart.  Good-bye." 

Thus  she  dismissed  him,  and  at  the  same  time  dis 
missed  someone  else,  a  listener  whom  she  had  not  seen. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
SHE  COULDN'T  TALK  TO  HIM 

Breathing  low  and  sometimes  almost  fearing  to  breathe 
at  all,  Harriet  had  heard  Mr.  Smill  's  ' '  tender  wooing. ' ' 
She  crept  out  from  her  curtained  ambush,  up  the  stairs 
to  her  own  apartments,  where,  angered  in  soul,  she 
brooded  the  coming  of  her  husband.  She  yearned  to  tell 
him  how  great  a  fool  his  sister  had  become,  how  criminal 
indeed,  since  the  richer  Rose's  alliance  the  more  of  the 
old  man's  estate  would  be  apportioned  to  Dan  Whateley 
and  the  boy. 

Rose  was  not  much  given  to  song;  in  the  realm  of 
pretentious  vocal  boredom  she  was  a  sufferer;  but  now 
Harriet  heard  her  singing,  a  melodious  "  simple," 
Genevieve,  and  the  angered  woman  felt  that  she  hardly 
dared  trust  herself  at  dinner,  to  see  Rose  smile  at  the 
old  man  and  lightly  to  joke  with  him.  But  she  did 
trust  herself,  as  subconsciously  all  women  know  they 
can ;  and  she  outjoked  Rose,  so  blithely  had  she  schooled 
her  temper.  Old  Calvin  beamed  upon  her,  and  more 
than  once  Dan  was  moved  to  mutter  that  he  was 
' '  blowed  "  if  he  understood  it ;  and  in  astonishment  he 
listened,  wondering  what  had  become  of  her  nerves. 

"  Father,"  said  Harriet,  "I'd  like  to  go  into  the 
Cabin  with  you  to-night  —  and  muse. ' ' 

Harriet  sitting  in  the  Cabin,  musing!  Dan  snorted, 
the  picture  shot  up  so  suddenly,  but  she  did  not  fix  upon 
him  her  look  of  cultivated  reproach;  she  sugared  him 

294 


SHE  COULDN'T  TALK  TO  HIM     295 

with  a  smile  and  said,  "  I've  been  thinking  about  it  all 
day." 

Dan  muttered  that  some  new-thoughtist  must  have 
invaded  his  bailiwick;  and  little  Calvin  cried  out,  "  Ho, 
mamma,  you  wouldn't  stay  in  there  ten  minutes,  you 
know  you  wouldn 't.  You'd  be  scared  of  the  mice.  You 
said  all  that  old  stuff  ought  to  be  thrown  out,  you  know 
you  did. ' ' 

Upon  him  she  smiled  and  sweetly  answered,  "  My 
dear  child,  you  do  not  know  your  own  mother." 

The  old  man  sat  nodding,  smiling.  "I'd  like  to  sit 
with  you  in  the  Cabin,  Harriet,"  he  said,  "  but  unfor 
tunately  the  fag  end  of  an  important  matter  has  dragged 
home  after  me." 

' '  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry, ' '  sighed  Harriet,  and  treacherous 
Dan  winked  at  his  sister. 

' '  Almost  any  other  night, ' '  said  the  old  man.  * '  Rose 
my  dear,  you  appear  to  be  particularly  happy.  You 
must  have  done  good  deeds  to-day."  . 

"  Yes,  father." 

Harriet  coughed  to  catch  herself,  to  stay  herself  from 
angered  outcry.  And  there  sat  her  dear  child!  How 
could  anyone,  especially  a  kinswoman,  rob  him  and  call 
the  deed  good? 

'  You  must  have  done  something  to  please  you  —  ha 
—  strangely  well,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Yes,  father." 

And  there  sat  Dan,  ignorant  that  he  and  his  son  had 
been  robbed  by  one  of  the  most  gracious  of  women,  a 
sister  and  an  aunt. 

"  What  have  you  done  to-day?  "  the  old  man  asked. 

"  I  have  been  true  to  your  blood  and  my  own,"  said 
Eose. 

Little  Calvin  cried  with  a  wave  of  his  fork,  "  Boy  in 


296  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

the  alley  named  Tonio,  and  Pete  knocked  the  blood  out 
of  his  nose,  you  bet. ' ' 

Harriet  excused  herself,  went  to  her  room  and  wept. 
But  she  was  not  weeping  when  her  husband  came  up, 
later  in  the  evening ;  she  was  in  too  settled  and  stagnant 
a  humor  for  the  emotional  activity  of  tears.  She  was 
still  angry  and  at  Dan.  Why,  she  could  not  have 
explained.  He  had  laughed  to  himself  and  had  mut 
tered  "  Syrup  "  when  she  had  been  so  determinedly 
sweet  —  that  she  was  not  supposed  to  have  seen  and 
heard  —  but  she  had  worked  up  herself  against  him,  if 
for  no  other  cause  than  his  stupidity.  Every  woman 
has  the  right,  under  the  unwritten  constitution  of  femi 
nine  whims,  to  buck  in  righteous  anger  against  the  dull 
ness  of  her  so-called  lord.  Why  should  he  have  so  little 
respect  for  his  wife  as  to  be  stupid  toward  her?  He  is 
not  stupid  toward  business,  or  toward  other  women, 
when  it  comes  to  that.  Then  what  moral  right  has  he  — 

"  Dan." 

"  Yes,  dear." 

The  lawyer  had  slippered  himself  and  was  reading  the 
evening  paper.  Nothing  had  been  said  to  warn  him  of 
trouble,  no  look ;  but  from  her  opposite  extremes  he  had 
caught  premonition,  and  so  now  he  braced  himself  with 
apparent  carelessness,  and  waited. 

"  Why  do  you  say  '  yes,  dear,'  every  time  I  speak? 
Do  you  suppose  everyone  is  like  yourself,  unacquainted 
with  the  meaning  of  nerves?  " 

"  No,  dear." 

' '  Do  you  think  it  the  proper  answer  to  everything  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  dear." 

"  Stop  saying  '  no,  dear,'  to  me,  Mr.  Whateley." 

"  I  thought  it  was  '  yes,  dear,'  you  objected  to." 

"  I  object  to  both." 


SHE  COULDN'T  TALK  TO  HIM  29T 

' '  All  right,  dear ;  what  is  it  you  were  going  to  say  ?  ' ! 

"  For  one  thing  I  was  going  to  say  that  you've  stood 
by  and  have  seen  little  Calvin  and  yourself  robbed,  and 
without  uttering  a  word  in  protest.  Our  little  son,  just 
think  of  it,  that  dearest  of  all  little  boys.  Well,  are  you 
going  to  defend  yourself —  " 

"  Let  it  go  by  default  until  I  get  through  with  this 
paper." 

"  No,  Mr.  Whateley,  this  is  no  time  for  waiting.  I 
have  waited  and  waited  —  have  done  nothing  but  wait ; 
and  you  see  what's  come  of  it." 

"  Come  of  what?  " 

"  Mr.  Whateley?  " 

"  Present." 

"  Are  you  going  to  treat  me  with  respect?  " 

"  In  a  minute." 

"Now,  sir." 

She  crossed  over  to  him,  took  his  newspaper,  folded  it 
and  dropped  it  on  a  chair.  Then  she  sat  down  with 
sighful  dignity,  such  as  is  often  assumed  by  a  weak 
spirit  cut  to  the  hollow.  There  had  been  a  time  when 
he  tried  to  reason  with  her,  and  for  his  pains  had  learned 
that  when  she  struck  upon  a  phrase  distasteful  to  him, 
that  fetched  him,  so  to  speak,  she  would  repeat  it  over 
and  over  again,  reading  in  the  annoyance  of  his  coun 
tenance  the  proclamation  of  her  own  victory.  Then  he 
had  tried  drollery,  and  he  had  some  sense  of  it,  and  had 
failed.  .  .  .  He  waited,  with  a  smile.  She  requested 
him  not  to  grin  at  her,  and  he  turned  out  his  light  and 
looked  sad.  He  waited. 

' '  Did  you  hear  me  say  that  you  and  Calvin  are  being 
robbed?  " 

"  Yes,  heard  something  of  the  sort,  but  I  don't 
gather. ' ' 


298  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  I  didn't  expect  you  would.    She  has  refused  him." 

"  Beg  pardon." 

' '  I  say  she  has  rejected  him. ' ' 

"  Oh,  is  that  so?     .     .    .    Who?" 

And  now  she  was  pardonable  for  glaring  at  him, 
and  in  silence  seeking  the  window  for  a  draft  of  cold 
air.  He  waited,  feet  thrust  out,  hands  in  his  pockets, 
in  the  attitude  of  threatened  whistle.  She  came  back, 
sat  down,  and  he  drew  in  his  feet. 

"  Can  you  understand  me  when  I  say  that  your  sister 
has  refused  to  be  the  wife  of  Mr.  Smill?  " 

"  Yes,  perfectly.    You  mean  she  won't  marry  him." 

"  I  am  still  praying  for  fortitude.  .  .  .  And  do 
you  know  what  it  means  ?  ' : 

' '  No  wedding,  my  dear ;  no  bride 's  cake  for  old  maids 
to  put  under  their  lonesome  pillows." 

She  was  silent,  for  several  minutes,  until  the  lawyer 
reached  over  for  his  newspaper,  and  then  with  such 
sharpness  she  cried  "  No !  "  that  he  snatched  back  his 
iiand  as  if  he  had  touched  something  that  burnt  him. 

"  Let  the  paper  alone.    Listen  to  me." 

He  nodded  that  he  would. 

' '  If  she  were  to  marry  him  with  his  more  than  seventy- 
five  millions,  she  could  not  accept  any  of  the  Whateley 
estate.  Is  that  plain  to  you  ?  ' ' 

1 '  As  Pike 's  Peak.  But  if  she  has  refused  to  marry  him, 
that  settles  it.  And  let  me  tell  you,  Madam,  as  we  go 
along,  there's  one  woman  that'll  never  marry  for  con 
venience,  position  or  money.  If  she  has  rejected  him  no 
power  could  have  forced  her  to  act  otherwise.  Nobody 
is  robbed.  The  Whateley  estate  will  be  ample  for  us  all. 
And  look  here,  you  persistently  forget  that  I  am  going 
to  do  something  on  my  own  account.  You  don't  believe 
that,  do  you?  " 


SHE  COULDN'T  TALK  TO  HIM     299 

' '  Oh,  I  ought  to ;  I  Ve  heard  it  often  enough. ' ' 

"  Too  often,  maybe,  but  you  must  know  that  law 
intended  as  a  help  toward  politics  takes  time.  I  arn 
going  to  be  the  mayor  of  this  town,  then  governor  of  the 
state,  and  who  knows  what  may  happen  after  that." 

"  A  great  deal  will  happen  before  that,"  she  said. 
"  By  the  time  you  get  ready  to  run  for  governor  a 
woman  will  have  gobbled  up  the  office. ' ' 

"  Then  let  us  hope,  my  dear,  that  you'll  be  the 
woman." 

"  Just  as  well  hope  that  as  to  expect  the  office 
yourself. ' ' 

Little  Calvin  came  in,  lonesome  wanderer,  for  of  even 
ings  when  the  old  man  put  schemes  to  torture  in  the 
"  Inquisition,"  the  boy  was  robbed  indeed,  of  story  and 
of  play.  He  was  possessed  of  a  small  swivel  chair,  pat 
terned  after  the  quick- turning  chair  in  the  old  man's 
office,  and  thus  enthroned  the  youngster  would  sit,  gaz 
ing  into  the  naming  grate,  pondering  the  mighty 
problems  of  the  universe. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to-day,  Calvin?  "  the 
father  inquired. 

"  School,"  the  boy  answered,  his  mind  among  the 
stars;  and  his  mother  muttered,  "  Robbed." 

Dan  took  up  his  newspaper.  The  boy  gazed  into  the 
grate.  Harriet  spoke.  "  We  never  can  discuss  a  serious 
question  sensibly,  as  other  people  do." 

Dan  glanced  up  and  down  the  out-spread  page, 
stripping  the  columns  of  their  news. 

"  No  wonder  there  are  suffragettes,"  said  Harriet. 

"  Humph,"  Dan  grunted;  "  and  they  make  consid 
erable  noise  except  in  states  where  they  are  permitted  to 
vote.  Men  are  busy  passing  laws  trying  to  compel  them 
to  dress  decently,  to  keep  them  from  exposing  them- 


300  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWEKSON 

selves.  They  don't  have  to  pass  a  law  to  keep  a  man 
from  exposing  himself ;  but  given  the  rein  woman  would 
make  everybody  blush,  except  herself.  Woman  suffrage ! 
Do  you  know  what  it  would  mean  ?  Know  what  it  would 
do?  It  would  foist  into  prominent  politics  two  objec 
tionable  characters,  the  preacher  and  the  gambler.  The 
preacher  would  vote  the  women  of  his  church,  and  the 
gambler  would  vote  the  women  of  the  dive.  Women! 
Civilization  based  on  a  feather. ' ' 

"  Better  on  a  feather  than  on  whiskey,"  she  replied. 

"  Oh,  good,  the  climax  of  argument." 

Calvin's  mind  swept  down  from  the  stars.  "  Aunt 
Rose  is  going  to  marry  Mr.  Howerson,  ain't  she?  "  he 
said,  and  his  mother,  shocked  out  of  her  chair,  sprang 
at  him,  to  give  him  a  shake  for  his  inspired  impudence, 
but  the  father  interposed : 

' '  Let  him  alone.  Here, ' '  he  called  to  the  maid,  ' '  put 
Master  Calvin  to  bed. ' '  When  the  little  fellow  had  been 
hustled  away,  his  mother,  shaking  sadly  her  troubled 
head,  vowed  that  she  did  not  know  what  on  earth  to  do 
with  him. 

"  Let  him  sleep,"  said  Dan. 

"  Yes,  and  that  shows  just  about  how  much  resource 
you  have,"  she  declared.  "  But  if  you  haven't  any 
resource,  I  have.  I  have  found  out  something  and  when 
I  tell  her,  Mr.  George  Howerson  will  be  only  a  hired 
man.  ...  I  say  I  have  found  out  something. ' ' 

"  Doubtless."   * 

"  But  will  you  listen  to  me?  " 

He  put  down  the  newspaper.    "  Well?  " 

"  Do  you  remember  a  comic  opera  singer  who  didn't 
have  even  modesty  enough  to  change  her  name  when  she 
took  to  the  stage,  Pauline  Howerson?  " 


SHE  COULDN'T  TALK  TO  HIM  301 

"  Yes,  and  a  devilish  pretty  girl,  too,  and  could  sing 
like  a  top." 

From  the  boy 's  bedroom  came  the  words,  ' '  Tops  don 't 
sing ;  tops  hum. ' ' 

Harriet  closed  the  door,  sat  down,  waited,  angered  to 
feel  that  a  recollection  of  the  singer  was  pleasing  to  the 
lawyer.  "  Handsome  as  a  prize  picture,"  he  went  on; 
"  and  I  remember  that  your  brother  John  just  about 
went  nutty  over  her.  Oh,  it 's  a  fact. ' ' 

She  was  breathing  hard  at  him.  ' '  Why  remind  me  of 
it?  " 

"I'm  reminding  myself.  I  like  to  think  of  it.  I 
remember  one  night  we  had  a  little  dinner  after  the 
show;  'Gene  Field,  Dave  Henderson,  and  others,  poets, 
critics,  and  an  undertaker  or  so.  Pauline  was  the  thrill 
of  the  occasion.  Your  brother  John  was  then  a  theo 
logical  student  just  in  the  milk,  you  might  say  —  ' ' 

"  I  won't  listen  to  you.  You  never  talk  unless  you 
have  something  disagreeable  to  say.  And  you  have  pur 
posely  ignored  the  point  of  what  I  said.  I  tell  you,  she 
was  George  Howerson's  sister." 

' '  And  I  tell  you  your  brother  went  nutty  over  her. ' ' 

"  Ah,  but  he  is  now  a  most  respectable  clergyman, 
and  what  did  she  become?  " 

"  The  wife  of  a  lord,  I  believe.  Nothing  so  un- 
American  in  that." 

' '  Yes,  his  wife  for  a  time !     Then  what  ?  ' ' 

"  I  didn't  keep  up  with  her  very  well,  I  admit.  She 
died  I  believe,  at  the  proper  time." 

'  Died,  yes,  but  not  at  the  proper  time  —  not  until 
she  had  broken  the  hearts  of  her  parents.  Is  it  possible 
you're  defending  her?  " 

' '  Haven 't  been  retained,  no.    But  what  about  it  all  ?  " 


302  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

' '  Mr.  Whateley,  sometimes  I  actually  believe  —  ' ' 

"  But  don't,  my  dear.  So  far,  however,  as  my  sister 
and  Mr.  Howerson  are  concerned,  there  is  nothing  to  it. ' ' 

They  heard  Rose  singing  an  old  song. 

"  There  is  something  to  it,  Dan.  I  believe  she  loves 
him." 

"  Rot.  .  .  .  That  girl  had  the  most  remarkable 
hair  I  ever  saw.  And  kick !  She  could  —  " 

"  I  won't  talk  to  you." 

She  went  down  the  stairs  and  soon  the  song  was 
hushed. 


CHAPTER  XXVm. 
NEVER  THOUGHT  OF  SUCH  A  THING 

Rose  ceased  her  song  and  turned  from  the  piano  as 
Harriet  spoke,  but  her  reminiscent  fingers  still  plucked 
back  among  the  chords,  loath  to  let  the  melody  sink 
again  to  sleep.  The  lawyer's  wife  could  not  keep  from 
coming  down,  she  said.  The  dear  old  song  brought  from 
the  past  so  many  blissful  memories. 

' '  Sing  on,  please, ' '  she  requested  Eose,  but  Rose  knew 
her. 

"  No,  I  have  sung  enough.  I  was  singing  only  for 
myself. ' ' 

"  We  are  happiest,  dear,  when  we  sing  only  for  our 
selves.  And  you  must  have  been  happy. ' ' 

"  Very,"  said  Rose. 

"  Thinking  of  someone,  Rose,  dear?  " 

"  Not  thinking  of  myself,  and  that  is  sometimes  a 
cause  for  happiness." 

Harriet  sat  down  and  Rose  turned,  facing  her,  wait 
ing,  elbows  resting  back  upon  the  piano  keys.  Harriet 
asked  if  Mr.  Smill  were  gone  from  town.  Rose  thought 
that  he  was,  still  waiting.  A  most  remarkable  man, 
Harriet  said,  with  a  sigh,  and  without  a  sigh  Rose  agreed 
that  he  was.  And  with  all  of  his  millions  so  learned, 
Harriet  ventured,  and  Rose  nodded.  Now  Harriet 
waited  but  Rose  was  silent. 

"  I  know  your  father  likes  him,"  said  Harriet. 

"  Maybe  so.    But  why?  " 

303 


304  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Oh,  for  many  reasons.  He's  a  great  man,  for  one 
reason." 

' '  Great  man  ?    What  has  he  done  ?  ' ' 

"  Why,  ever  so  many  things.  He's  immensely  rich 
and  he 's  traveled  everywhere. ' ' 

"  That's  nothing." 

' '  Yes,  but  it  is  something  to  be  able  to  —  to  do  mighty 
things." 

"  But  has  he  done  mighty  things?  " 

"  Perhaps  not  as  you  look  at  it,  but  he  might,  if 
properly  directed!  " 

"  I  thought  that  great  men  are  properly  directed." 

"  Oh,  they  are,  of  course;  but  —  you  know  what  I 
mean, ' ' 

"  You  mean  that  my  father  likes  him  because  of  his 
millions,  and  that  I  ought  to  like  him  for  the  same 
reason. ' ' 

"  Rose,  I  didn't  say  that." 

"  I  didn't  say  you  said  it;  I  said  that  is  what  you 
mean." 

"  And  suppose  it  is;  what  then?  " 

"  Nothing  that  I  can  see.  And  suppose  my  father 
should  like  him,  think  the  very  world  of  him,  what 
then  ?  Still  nothing,  so  far  as  I  can  see.  Sister  Harriet, 
I  don't  think  we  are  talking  to  much  purpose." 

Rose  got  up  and  walked  about  the  room,  returned  and 
sat  down  in  a  chair  of  plushed  and  easy  patience,  ready 
to  have  it  out,  whatever  it  might  be.  Giving  to  Harriet 
an  inquiring  look  she  said:  "  You  seem  to  suspect 
something. ' ' 

The  lawyer's  wife  was  astonished.  "  Suspect  some 
thing!  Why  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  What 
could  I  suspect?  " 


NEVER  THOUGHT  OF  SUCH  A  THING     305 

"  That  Mr.  Smill  has  asked  me  to  be  his  wife." 

"  Well,  to  be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  Rose  —  and 
you  know  I  can  be  —  to  be  absolutely  frank,  perhaps  I 
have  suspected,  or  rather  let  us  say  divined  that  he  has 
—  you  know.  I  say  divined  because  I  have  no  right  to 
suspect. ' ' 

Her  face  was  shrewd  and  her  eyes  gleamed. 

"  And  even  if  you  did  divine  it,"  said  Rose,  "  still 
what  then?  " 

"  What  then,  Rose?  Much  then,  I  tell  you.  If  you've 
declined  to  marry  that  man  you  have  made  your  great 
false  step." 

Rose  smiled  at  her,  a  bright  and  feminine  warfare 
smile.  ' '  There  are  two  bad  steps  a  woman  may  take : 
one,  declining  to  marry  well,  and  the  other,  marrying 
badly." 

Harriet's  eyes  gleamed,  and  in  her  narrow  soul  she 
would  not  have  had  to  search  long  to  find  the  words,  ' '  I 
thank  you  for  that  cue."  She  smiled,  too,  and  did  the 
natural  thing,  spoke  the  words  of  apparent  idleness: 
"  Yes  I  suppose  so."  And  then  with  her  sweetest  air 
she  added:  "  But  I  hope,  dear  sister,  you're  not  think 
ing  of  marrying  the  wrong  man." 

11  Thinking  of  it?  "  Rose  laughed.  "  What  woman 
ever  thinks  she  is  not  marrying  the  right  one?  " 

"  How  true,"  said  Harriet  with  a  successful  sigh. 
"  How  very,  very  true.  And  how  blind  a  romantic 
attachment  may  be!  That  is  the  reason  poets  never 
make  good  husbands.  And  the  more  they  fail  as  poets, 
the  worse  husbands  they  become." 

"  Then  true  poets  ought  to  make  good  husbands," 
said  Rose,  the  smile  of  warfare  gone,  mischief  in  her 
eyes. 


306  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Yes,  I  know,  dear,  but  somehow  they  don't.  Do  you 
remember  Dr.  Henshaw's  saying  that  the  truest  of  all 
poets  died  when  the  writers  of  the  Psalms  passed  away  ? 
A  girl  friend  of  mine  married  a  poet.  What  was  his 
name?  I  can't  think.  But  he  wrote  beautiful  verses. 
He  wrote  so  well  that  the  breakfast  food  people  employed 
him  to  write  for  them.  But  he  didn't  appreciate  his 
promotion.  Afterwards  he  quarreled  with  his  wife, 
who  really  got  him  the  job  by  sending  the  breakfast 
food  people  a  sample  of  his  work;  and  now  they  are 
divorced.  Ruined  her  life  completely  for  a  time,  till  she 
married  the  lawyer  who  got  her  the  divorce,  and  now  at 
last  she  is  happy." 

' '  And  with  no  gratitude  toward  the  poor  poet  who  got 
her  the  job,"  said  Rose. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  look  at  it  that  way,  perhaps  not. 
But  he  might  have  ruined  her  life  for  good  and  all." 

"  But  as  it  was  he  chastened  her  for  the  pure  happi 
ness  to  come.  All  very  romantic.  And  I  am  to  take  it 
as  a  warning,  which  I  accept  gratefully,  and  assure  you 
that  if  I  should  find  a  poet  who  looks  as  if  he  might  be 
tempted  into  writing  advertisements  for  breakfast  foods 
I  will  refuse  to  marry  him." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Harriet,  trying  to  pump  up  a 
laugh,  but  her  pump  had  not  been  primed  and  the  effort 
was  a  dry  failure. 

Rose  looked  at  her.  "  But  when  are  you  going  to 
say  what  you  came  down  to  say?  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  said  it,  dear.  The  truth  is  I  didn't 
come  down  especially  to  say  anything,  but  to  hear  your 
song.  But  come  to  think  about  it,  I  heard  something 
to-day  that  will  amuse  you  very  much." 

"Yes?  " 

"  Very  much  indeed.  You  remember  that  comic  opera 


NEVER  THOUGHT  OF  SUCH  A  THING      307 

singer  who  used  to  be  a  sort  of  disreputable  rage,  Paul 
ine  Howerson?  " 

She  shot  a  quick  glance  at  Rose  but  the  girl  met  it 
with  a  smile.  "  Yes,  I  remember  her?  " 

"  Do  you  know  who  she  was?  " 

"  Yes,  a  comic  opera  singer." 

"  But  do  you  know  whose  sister  she  was?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  her  brother's,  of  course." 

Harriet's  face  sharpened.  "  And  that  brother  is 
George  Howerson.  You  didn't  know  that,  did  you?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  I  did.  He  told  me  the  first  night  he  was 
here;  showed  me  a  letter  from  the  poor  girl,  perhaps 
the  last  one  she  ever  wrote." 

Harriet  sat  back,  shoulders  drooping.  "  You  didn't 
say  a  word  about  it." 

"  No,  and  for  the  reason,  perhaps,  that  he  forgot  to 
caution  me  not  to." 

"  Ah,  and  now  you  look  on  it  as  a  matter  of  very 
little  consequence." 

' '  Well,  not  with  as  much  concern  as  you  do,  Harriet. 
Are  you  going?  " 

Harriet  had  arisen.  "  Yes,  I  have  nothing  more  to 
say. ' ' 

"  But  perhaps  you  have." 

Harriet  had  paused.     "  Why  do  you  presume  so?  " 

"  Because  you  always  have." 

"  I  could  say  a  great  deal  more,  but  you  would 
treat  it  lightly." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"You  hope  so.  And  let  the  rest  of  us  entertain  a  hope, 
Rose  —  the  hope  that  you  will  not  disgrace  the  family. ' ' 

"I  am  going  to  sing  now,"  said  Rose.  "  Won't  you 
wait?  " 

Harriet  was  gone. 


308  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Old  Calvin,  closing  the  door  of  his  "  Inquisition," 
heard  his  daughter  singing.  He  came  to  her,  put  his  arm 
about  her.  "  Sing  that  again,"  he  said.  .  .  .  And 
in  a  room  upstairs  a  little  boy  muttered  in  his  sleep, 
"  Aunt  Rose  is  going  to  marry  Mr.  Howerson,  ain't 
she?  " 


XXIX. 

SHE  DID  NOT  EXIST 

Collaborator  with  Fate,  the  dramatizer  of  histories 
and  of  souls,  the  little  boy  was  dreaming  a  play,  but 
the  protagonist  of  his  drama  was  not  now  buskin-bound, 
striding  in  measured  and  heroic  strut.  Quietly  he  was 
walking  about,  careless  of  manner  and  negligent  of  dress, 
seeking  information  concerning  the  cost  and  estimated 
worth  of  a  monstrous  water  power  plant.  For  a  time 
there  seemed  to  be  no  one  to  tell  him  anything  except 
that  the  plant  had  cost  an  enormous  amount,  that  with 
proper  management  it  might  have  paid,  but  that  a  pig 
headed  company  refused  to  enter  into  arbitration,  closed 
down  and  let  millions  of  dollars  go  to  rust.  The  town 
was  small,  a  village  with  city  aspirations  nipped  by 
premature  frost.  But  about  it  in  all  directions  lay  wild 
beauty  in  repose  or  tumbled  in  swifts  of  tempestuous 
water.  There  was  a  lake  where  a  worn-out  steamboat 
dozed  in  old  age,  aroused  occasionallly  from  afternoon 
nappings  to  take  the  children  and  mayhap  a  stranger 
down  among  the  narrows.  And  here  among  these  Rocks 
of  Ages  cleft  not  for  the  soul  of  sinner  but  for  the  souls 
of  gods,  earth  opened  the  shy  bosom  of  her  hidden 
beauty. 

Down  among  those  nature-castles,  a  Venice  of  eter 
nity,  Howerson  loitered  in  a  launch,  the  poet  within  him 
alive  and  thrilled.  But  he  was  not  neglecting  his  work; 
he  was  putting  himself  into  the  channel  of  exact  infor 
mation.  Soon  he  made  a  discovery  important  to  him, 

309 


310  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

that  while  the  Canadian  dislikes  the  American  nation 
and  government,  he  likes  the  individual  American,  and 
that  out  of  his  great  admiration  for  Britain  and  British 
institutions,  there  has  grown  no  liking  for  the  individual 
Englishman. 

At  the  northern  edge  of  the  town  flowed  a  river  and 
it  was  here  that  the  falls  came  tumbling  down,  to  foam, 
to  whirl  and  to  dart  onward  into  the  lake.  Here,  in 
the  lengthening  twilight  of  the  advancing  spring,  How- 
erson  would  stand,  musing.  One  evening  he  met  a 
man  who  seemed  to  know  something,  a  caretaker,  and 
with  him  he  walked  about,  into  the  mill. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here?  " 

' '  '  Ow  long  ?  Long  enough,  sir.  I  came  over  with 
the  Company,  a  mere  hoiler  of  w'eels,  sir;  but  w'en  the 
Company  broke  up  and  went  aw'y,  I  was  left  'ere  to 
look  arfter  things  a  bit.  I  thankee,  sir,"  he  added, 
touching  his  cap.  Howerson  had  tipped  him. 

"  How  did  it  all  come  about,  anyhow?  I  mean  the 
trouble." 

"  Wy,  the  Canadian  workmen  wanted  things  their 
own  w'y,  and  struck  because  old  Sir  John  wouldn't 
accommodate  'em.  Sir  John  wasn't  any  too  willin'  to 
take  up  the  matter  of  his  own  business  an'  talk  it  over, 
an'  you  may  be  sure  he  was  slow  when  they  tried  to 
drive  'im.  So  we  closed  down,  years  ago,  sir." 

"  That  was  Sir  John  Ferrill,  I  suppose.  And  is  he 
in  England  now?  " 

"  Yes,  in  a  w'y,  sir.  I  mean  he  lives  there,  but  'e 
comes  over  'ere  once  in  a  w'ile  an'  just  at  the  present 
Vs  in  Toronto  at  the  King  Hedward  'Otel." 

In  old  age  plungers  grow  cautious.  It  is  the  old 
gambler,  grown  timid,  that  is  bluffed  out  of  the  pot;  in 


SHE  DID  NOT  EXIST  311 

really  big  affairs,  such  as  in  battle,  the  boldness  of  youth 
sometimes  out-schemes  the  judgment  of  age  and  experi 
ence.  But  not  yet  had  Whateley  shown  a  symptom  of 
poorhouse  dread;  in  his  footsteps  toward  chance  there 
was  no  doddering  halt.  This  reflection  on  the  poet's 
part  lent  boldness,  and  he  mused  that  it  might  be  well 
to  bring  about  a  meeting  between  Sir  John  and  the  old 
man ;  and  after  Howerson  had  received  a  letter  from  Yal 
Watkins,  the  advisory  musing  became  a  determination. 
' '  Am  settled  down  into  the  job  all  right, ' '  Watkins 
went  on  to  say;  "  and  I  guess  pretty  much  everybody's 
pleased.  I  know  I  am.  Of  course  big  "Wherry  did 
the  expected  amount  of  beefing,  and  he  says  that 
no  matter  who  may  administer  on  your  general  affairs, 
your  '  goat  '  belongs  to  him.  I  hesitate  to  tell  you 
of  my  visit  to  the  '  Big  Jolt's  '  office.  With  my 
plug  hat  as  bright  as  a  land  scheme  in  the  far  West 
viewed  from  a  distance,  I  felt  brave  enough  to  strike  a 
dramatic  syndicate  for  a  job  as  star  in  an  '  Uncle  Tom  ' 
revival,  but  for  some  time  after  coming  down  I  was 
too  humble  to  keep  my  tile  on  in  the  presence  of  a  soft- 
shell  crab.  I  went  in  and  he  looked  me  out  into  the 
corridor,  looked  the  nap  of  my  '  dicer  '  the  wrong  way; 
and  there  I  was.  But  then  I  gathered  that  he  had  told 
me  to  go  out  there,  and  here  I  am,  with  things  straight 
ening  out  every  minute  of  the  day  and  night.  But  say, 
old  fellow,  you  must  have  been  pretty  badly  tangled  up 
with  Annie  Zondish.  She  spotted  me,  followed  me  and 
cornered  me  in  a  restaurant.  Then  she  gave  me  a 
shower  of  questions  concerning  you,  all  leading  up 
toward  where  to  find  you ;  and  I  lied,  not  like  the  devil, 
for  he  told  truth  even  on  short  acquaintance  in  Eden, 
but  like  a  tough  to  his  tender  sister.  I  told  her  you 


312  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

were  gone  abroad,  swore  to  it  on  my  honor,  for  aren't 
you  abroad?  It  is  thus  that  we  lie  in  intention  to  tell 
a  truth  in  fact." 

Howerson  wrote  to  "Whateley,  wrote  all  day  and  by 
lamplight,  puncturing  the  bubble  metaphor  rising  upon 
the  surface  of  his  murky  flow  of  words.  Into  a  corner 
of  the  room  he  threw  his  pen  and  went  below,  strolled 
out  to  the  river,  to  drown  his  own  trickling  rhythm  in 
the  mighty  rhythm  of  the  falls;  and  through  the  roar 
there  came  like  a  flying  splinter  the  cry  of  a  night 
hawk,  and  then  a  screech  owl's  creepy  call,  the  laughter 
of  Annie  Zondish.  Back  to  the  inn  he  strode,  the  mists 
rising  from  his  mind ;  and  he  wrote  with  crabbed  clear 
ness,  read  the  letter  over  and  over,  astonished  with  its- 
simple  force.  But  he  did  not  suggest  a  meeting  with 
Sir  John;  that  was  reserved  for  a  future  expedient,  his 
aim  now  being  to  spar  for  a  few  more  days  of  safety. 

Then  he  broke  his  handcuffs,  kicked  off  his  chains  and 
wrote  to  Watkins,  and  so  long  cramped  with  hypocrisy, 
his  pen  now  laughed  over  the  page,  until  it  came  to 
Zondish  and  then  — ' '  Now  cough, ' '  the  writer  said  to  it. 

"  But  get  it  out  of  your  head,  Yal,  that  I've  ever 
been  tangled  up  with  her  sentimentally.  Under  some 
half-insane  excitement  we  might  commit  a  desperate 
crime  with  a  woman  whom  we  could  not  be  induced  to 
kiss.  Like  you  I  am  indebted  to  that  strange  creature. 
Say  that  I  owe  her  my  life,  that  I  am  ungrateful,  a  thief ; 
but  don't  think  that  I  could  ever  have  told  that  wildcat 
that  I  loved  her.  Love  is  so  glorifying,  so  truly  the  God- 
image  held  in  the  soul,  that  even  to  whisper  a  lie  about 
it  were  a  black  and  damnable  crime." 

But  what  was  he  doing  now  ?  He  was  writing  to  Rose 
Whateley;  and  free  was  his  pen,  for  it  seemed  to  know 
that  the  letter  would  not  be  entrusted  to  the  mails  but  to 


SHE  DID  NOT  EXIST  313 

the  safest  of  all  receivers  of  the  Muse's  purloined  goods, 
the  flames.  He  sketched  his  surroundings,  the  waters 
whose  depths  were  as  dark  as  the  eyes  of  an  Indian  maid, 
the  great  rocks  whereon  the  playful  gods  with  diamond 
points  of  winter  stars  had  etched  fantastic  images  which 
with  his  lightning  the  critic  Jove  had  half  singed  out. 
"  But  even  mighty  scenery,  as  if  weary,  slopes  off  to  lie 
flat  and  commonplace.  Poets  nod  themselves  fast  asleep, 
which  we  could  o'erlook  if  they  but  dreamed  and  mut 
tered  music  in  their  dreams,  like  birds,  half  awake, 
twittering  in  the  dawn.  It  seems  to  me,  and  surely  in 
my  idlest  moments  here,  that  virgin  songs  are  hidden  in 
the  woods,  peeping  out,  ready  to  flee,  but  lovingly  in  wait 
for  the  true  minstrel's  coming.  Logic,  philosophy  and 
mathematics  sentence  the  mind  to  unelastic  work,  but 
art  comes  round  as  longed-for  holiday ;  and  poetry  is  the 
laughter  and  the  tear  of  art,  the  orator  of  the  soul.  Let 
me  further  '  silly  '  myself: 

"  Oft  when  we  wake  the  mind  sleeps  on 

Or  else  looks  up  with  only  one  eye  ope. 

'Tis  then  we  speak  the  thing  we  would  recall. 

'Tis  then  we  dream  the  dreams  whose  rosy  tints 

Turn  thin  with  shame  when  light  of  day 

Doth  pale  them  weak  and  vapory.    So  bold 

The  mind  when  curtained  by  the  dark, 

So  bright  by  contrast  seems  the  dream  we  dream 

That  glamoured,  we  are  wont  to  think 

A  poem  of  rare  worth  is  wrought.     Alas 

The  sunlight  brings  the  blemish  out 

And,  sneering,  makes  a  mock  of  our  poor  skeleton. 

"  With  plenty  of  time  for  thought  and  experiment  I 
possibly  could  do  worse  than  this.     But  since  you  are 


314  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

never  to  see  these  lines,  why  make  an  apology?  Then 
why  write  them?  To  help  the  drama  along,  to  let  you 
glimpse  my  mind,  not  sane  beneath  your  father's  com 
manding  eye,  but  at  its  most  vagrant  worst.  Isn't  it 
happiness  to  be  pen-free?  No  publisher's  faddish  whim 
to  serve,  no  critic 's  jaded  taste  to  offend,  but  to  -write 
for  the  appreciative  childhood  of  —  self,  and  for  you, 
as  you  do  not  really  exist  while  I  write,  except  in 
my  own  fancy.  Thus  may  I  talk  to  you  with  as  much 
freedom  as  I  would  muse  unto  myself.  But,  for  you, 
pliant  child  of  my  fancy,  I  shall  show  a  considerateness, 
laying  you  not  beneath  the  contribution  of  inflated 
words.  How  often  adjectives  are  driven  tandem  with 
no  load  behind  them.  Ah,  but  why  be  compact  when 
the  leading  '  seller  '  proves  the  reward  of  looseness? 

' '  Reading  anew  these  meditations  I  find  them  streaked 
with  vanity.  Must  man  find  it  impossible  to  make  com 
plete  subversion  of  artificial  self?  Must  he  ever  '  prac 
tice  behavior  to  his  shadow?  '  .  .  .  Old  Fate  with 
brusque  hand  will  strike  these  musings  out  of  the  drama. 
I  can  hear  the  comment:  '  Halts  the  progress;  cripples 
the  interest.'  And  what  can  I  say?  Nothing  except 
to  acknowledge  truth,  which  unto  ourself  is  not  hard  to 
do.  ...  I  listen  to  the  far-off  wings  of  the  coming 
dawn.  The  eagle  of  light  is  chasing  away  the  owl  of 
darkness.  Gracious  lady,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  pa 
tience.  ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
IN  A  CREAMY  ENVELOPE 

He  laughed  as  he  put  the  two  other  letters  into  envel 
opes,  laughed  with  deeper  chuckle  as  he  took  up  the 
letter  to  Rose.  Then  came  into  his  mind  the  play  night 
in  the  Cabin,  and  he  said:  "  I  am  playing  alone,  in  the 
midst  of  this  great  wilderness;  but  I  make  two  letters 
real  and  of  the  other  a  plaything  indeed.  Here,  pre 
tender  in  art,  carry  the  appearance  of  truth  to  the  end, ' ' 
and  he  directed  the  letter  to  Rose  Whateley  and  stamped 
the  envelope.  Then  he  laughed  his  applause,  for  the 
curtain  had  come  down  at  the  end  of  the  act; 
and  now  to  bed  in  the  paling  dawn.  Until  nearly 
noon  he  slept;  awoke  and  leaped  out  upon  the  floor, 
refreshed  and  strong,  whistling  himself  into  his  clothes, 
recalling  the  most  of  the  night  as  a  dream  of  the  night 
before.  Musing  that  he  would  hardly  dare  to  read  Rose 's 
letter  to  himself,  he  approached  the  table.  The  letters 
were  all  of  them  gone.  And  now  he  went  leaping  down 
the  stairs. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said  to  the  landlord,  striving  to 
be  calm,  "  this  morning  when  I  went  to  bed  I  left  three 
letters  lying  on  the  table." 

"Don't  worry,"  the  landlord  replied.  "  They're  all 
right.  About  eight  o'clock  the  watchman  over  at  the 
mill  called  to  see  you.  I  went  up  to  your  room  and 
tapped  a  time  or  two  on  the  door.  No  answer,  and  I 
turned  the  knob.  The  door  opened  and  in  I  went  — 
found  you  asleep,  and  as  I  didn  't  think  the  watchman 's 

315 


316  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

business  important  enough  to  wake  you  up,  I  was  about 
to  come  out,  when  I  saw  your  letters  lying  on  the  table. 
Thinking  you  would  like  to  have  them  go  off  on  the 
early  mail  I  brought  them  down,  and  they're  gone  all 
right." 

Howerson  strode  weak-kneed  out  into  the  street,  turn 
ing  not  toward  the  river,  to  seek  the  watchman,  but 
in  the  direction  of  the  telegraph  office.  Arriv 
ing  there  he  seized  upon  a  blank  and  wrote,  ' '  Under 
no  circumstances  open  a  letter  postmarked  this  place." 
Then  he  mused:  "  She'll  think  I'm  a  fool.  She'll 
show  the  telegram  to  the  old  man  and  he'll  know  I  am 
crazy.  And  both  of  them  will  hit  it.  This  thing 
would  stimulate  her  to  read  the  letter  all  the  closer, 
twice  over.  Old  fellow,  you've  made  a  mess  of  it  this 
time."  He  tore  up  the  paper,  went  out,  walking  slowly 
toward  the  mill.  "Why  not  write  a  simple  letter  of  expla 
nation.  Yes,  he  would  do  that.  Nothing  easier  than  to 
write  a  laughing  letter  guying  this  little  play,  all  alone 
in  the  forest.  She  could  not  take  offense,  for  both  letters 
would  then  amuse  her.  "  Great  Caesar,  I  said  that  she 
did  not  exist  except  in  my  own  fancy !  Nothing  to 
her  except  what  I  imagine,  the  most  real  of  God's 
creations!  " 

The  mill  caretaker  had  nothing  new,  angled  for 
another  tip,  caught  it  and  touched  his  cap.  Now  there 
was  naught  to  do  but  to  wait,  the  hardest  of  all  labors. 
Wait  for  what?  The  letter  from  Whateley?  That  was 
something  his  mind  could  forecast.  "  The  letter  from 
her,"  he  said. 

Four  days  passed  and  Whateley 's  letter  came.  "  Make 
thorough  investigation."  That  was  all;  and  no  word 
from  Rose.  He  had  insulted  her,  called  her  the  shadow 
of  his  fancy.  He  thought  of  the  old  Hebrews  who  on 


IN  A  CREAMY  ENVELOPE  317 

the  desert  and  in  despair,  beat  their  breasts ;  and  he  felt 
that  he  ought  to  beat  his  own,  not  with  his  hand,  but 
with  a  hammer.  He  strode  up  and  down  his  room,  and 
upon  him  came  the  truth,  that  he  was  acting,  and  he 
laughed  at  himself,  comedian  tittering  at  tragedian. 

On  the  following  day  a  letter  came,  warm  it  seemed, 
through  the  chilling  mist.  He  had  never  seen  the  char 
acter  of  her  pen  but  he  knew  it,  felt  it  thrill  him  as 
he  held  the  creamy  envelope,  and  then  he  read.  .  .  . 
His  letter  had  been  so  pleasant  a  surprise,  so  different 
from  other  letters,  so  inventively  free,  that  she  read  it  to 
—  gods,  to  the  old  man?  No,  to  herself,  many  times. 
"  How  novel  your  device,  '  playing  like  '  you  were  not 
to  send  it  to  me,  but  if  you  hadn't  I  should  have  been 
angry  with  you.  How  few  there  are  who  can  write  in 
the  way  of  artistic  friendship,  in  unconscious  metaphor. ' ' 
That  made  him  blink.  "  How  few  who  dream  and  do 
not  noon-tide  their  dreams  with  the  dazzle  of  self-con 
sciousness."  He  turned  back  to  the  first  words,  which, 
he  feared,  in  his  eagerness  he  might  have  overleaped: 
"  Friend  Pal."  Then  he  continued  to  read: 

"  How  rarer  the  friend  than  the  lover,  in  fiction  and 
I  suppose  in  life.  Once  I  heard  one  of  father's  friends 
say,  '  I  used  to  look  at  a  woman  and  if  she  wasn  't  hand 
some  enough  for  me  to  fall  in  love  with,  I  was  then 
ready  to  study  her  and  to  acknowledge  her  worthy  qual 
ities,  and  to  accept  her  as  a  companion.'  Wasn't  that  a 
heroic  conceit  ?  Or  was  it  only  masculine  ?  And  I  wish 
you  could  see  that  man:  not  possessed  of  a  point  on 
which  to  hang  friendship,  no  surface  roughed  with  char 
acter,  but  smooth  with  unvarying  vanity.  To  me  the 
delight  of  your  letter  was  its  inspiring  belief  that  you 
did  not  really  intend  to  send  it.  In  this  belief  was  a 
charm  which  I  feared  might  upon  a  second  reading  evap- 


318  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

orate  like  an  elusive  perfume;  and  I  put  the  sheets  of 
paper  aside,  bidding  them  hold  my  delusion  prisoner. 
Then  came  curiosity  to  tempt  me.  I  wanted  to  find  out 
whether  the  notion  after  all  did  not  live  wholly  in  my 
own  mind;  I  was  dared,  would  not  take  a  dare  and 
read  again;  and  there  it  was  just  as  before.  .  .  . 
You  remember,  don 't  you,  that  I  spoke  of  Col.  Banstree  ? 
Recently  I  was  at  his  armory  and  mentioned  your  name 
to  him,  and  his  old  eyes  grew  bright.  He  said  that  you 
were  one  of  his  aptest  pupils.  You  must  go  to  see  him, 
with  me,  some  time.  .  .  .  Little  Calvin  talks  about 
you  every  day,  every  hour,  it  seems.  I  think  it  is  much  to 
win  the  admiration,  the  real  love,  of  this  dear  little 
feUow.  The—" 

The  words  were  blurred.  Much  to  win  his  love!  It 
was  life,  the  redemption  of  soul.  He  continued  to  read : 
* '  Father  says  that  your  letter  —  ' ' 

"What's  this?  " 

"  To  him  is  a  model  of  straightforward  statement, 
shrewd  with  business  insight." 

Then  came  the  end,  a  pleasant  good  night.  But  why 
had  she  so  harped  on  friendship  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
THE  TWO  KNIGHTS 

Howerson  suggested  an  appointment  between  Whate 
ley  and  Sir  John  Ferrill.  "Whateley  urged  an  immediate 
meeting,  in  Toronto.  Howerson  conferred  with  Sir  John. 
It  was  easy  enough  to  meet  him.  Not  much  of  cere 
mony  is  insisted  upon  by  the  man  who  has  something 
to  sell,  and  the  details  were  quickly  arranged.  Whate 
ley  was  to  come  at  once  to  Toronto.  Howerson  was  to 
be  there,  to  bring  them  together,  and  during  an  interval 
of  the  preliminaries,  to  conduct  Whateley  to  the  Falls. 

Within  a  few  days  the  meeting  took  place  in  Toronto, 
at  the  King  Edward.  Now  Howerson  sat  off  at  the  edge 
of  the  play,  studying  the  scene.  Sir  John  was  not  red 
and  heavy ;  he  was  frail,  an  anemic.  He  knew  of  Whate 
ley,  and  was  glad  to  meet  him,  he  said,  and  perhaps  he 
was. 

In  the  transaction  there  was  much  of  the  "  sidestep 
ping  ' '  of  men  seeking  to  get  at  each  other 's  weaknesses. 
One  for  business  thrift  had  been  knighted.  The  other 
within  himself  was  an  original  order  of  shrewd  knight 
hood.  But  until  Whateley  had  seen  the  plant  there  was 
not  much  of  vital  interest  to  discuss.  He  insisted  on 
going  up  to  the  Falls;  the  scene  was  shifted:  exterior 
view,  marvelous  background,  rocks,  mountains,  water, 
villagers  agape,  a  threat  of  comic  opera.  Then  followed 
two  days  of  walking  about,  the  two  old  men  apart  from 
all  others,  sometimes  standing  above  the  rushing  water, 
strange  figures  in  the  gathering  dusk.  And  now,  back 

319 


320  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

in  Toronto,  talking  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  world, 
old  friends  exchanging  confidences  one  might  have 
thought.  Once  they  laughed,  shook  hands,  and  Howersou 
fancied  that  they  must  have  entered  upon  some  sort  of 
decision. 

One  evening  Whateley  said,  "  "We  leave  for  home 
to-morrow  morning,  Mr.  Howerson." 

Home!  The  word  startled  him.  "  All  right,  sir.  I 
will  go  now  and  get  the  tickets." 

That  was  all.  There  was  no  reference  to  any  transac 
tion,  until  the  following  day,  on  the  train.  Howerson 
was  splashing  in  the  shallows  of  a  magazine,  wondering 
how  it  was  that  such  verses  ever  overtook  a  publisher, 
when  Whateley  crossed  over  and  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  I  thought  you  might  like  to  know  something  as  to 
the  outcome  of  our  negotiations  over  here,  Mr.  Hower 
son." 

"  I  should  indeed,  sir." 

' '  I  shall  organize  a  company  and  take  over  that  —  ha 
—  wonderful  opportunity.  The  site  and  resources  in 
the  way  of  material  render  it  the  chance  of  a  lifetime. 
And  the  opportunity  lay  far  beyond  the  possibility  of 
discovery  on  my  part;  it  was  seized  upon  by  your 
instinctive  business  grasp.  Little  Calvin  will  have  cause 
to  remember  you  gratefully  —  ha  —  and  now,  sir,  to  you 
shall  be  issued  certain  shares  of  stock  in  this  great  enter 
prise.  ' ' 

Down  fell  the  magazine.  "  No,  Mr.  Whateley,  you 
must  not  do  that.  Really,  sir,  you  don't  know  how  little 
credit  I  am  entitled  to  in  the  matter.  You  have  done  too 
much  for  me  already,  and  I  refuse  to  accept  the  shares, 
sir." 

The  old  man  laughed.  "  Mr.  Howerson,  you  are  too 
modest,  and  it  is  only  your  lack  of  confidence  in  your- 


THE  TWO  KNIGHTS  321 

self  that  has  held  you  back  from  —  I  might  say  —  a 
commanding  position  in  the  world  of  finance.  In  a  flash 
you  reach  conclusions  that  take  some  of  us  a  long  time 
to  think  out. ' ' 

They  reached  Chicago  in  the  forenoon.  Instead  of 
going  home  and  inviting  Howerson  to  go  with  him, 
Whateley  betook  himself  straightway  to  his  office,  to 
enter  at  once  upon  the  organization  of  the  Sturgeon  Falls 
Corporation.  Howerson  went  to  his  hotel  and  after  a 
time  to  Whateley 's  office,  where  he  sat  about,  feeling 
like  the  country  boy  who,  having  gone  to  a  frolic,  dis 
covers  amid  neglect  and  the  titter  of  heartless  girls,  that 
his  trousers  are  too  short.  Over  the  telephone  the  old 
man  was  talking  about  millions.  "  Self-made  "  capital 
ists  with  horny  knuckles  almost  bursting  through  their 
gloves  came  upon  hurry  call  to  confer  with  the  "  Big 
Jolt."  Howerson  walked  about,  conscious  that  in  this 
heaviness  of  millionaire  talk  he  was  only  a  hired  man. 
But  not  feeling  at  liberty  to  go  away  without  telling 
Whateley  whither  he  was  going  and  that  he  stood  upon 
call,  he  re-entered  into  the  atmosphere  of  eager  enter 
prise,  wondering  at  the  keenness  of  men  already  more 
than  rich,  and  some  of  them  surely  money-changing  on 
the  verge  of  the  grave. 

He  caught  at  a  brief  opportunity  to  speak  to  Whate 
ley,  and  the  old  man  started  as  if  he  had  been  called 
down  from  an  exalted  flight.  ' '  Why,  yes,  Mr.  Howerson, 
you  are  at  liberty  to  come  and  go  as  you  please.  And 
when  I  —  ha  —  need  you  I  will  call  you  up.  If  you 
have  nothing  else  on  hand  come  out  to  dinner  with  me 
to-morrow  evening  at  six." 

Down  into  the  street  Howerson  went,  breathing  de 
licious  air.  It  was  heavy  with  smoke  and  black  with 
dust,  but  a  few  words  spoken  by  the  old  man  had  made 


322  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

it  sweeter  than  breezes  blown  from  blooming  plum  trees. 
Suddenly  a  flash  of  red  from  a  woman's  hat  halted  him 
in  his  feather-foot  speed  toward  the  hotel,  and  upon 
him  came  the  weakening  dread  of  Annie  and  the  aveng 
ing  Agents.  But  in  the  big  hotel  he  would  be  safe,  for 
a  time  at  least,  until  after  he  had  gone  again  to  Whate- 
ley  's  house,  had  heard  again  a  voice  speak  new  salvation 
to  his  soul. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 
MIGHT  LIVE  TO  REACH  THERE. 

As  the  evening  crept  on  Howerson  wondered  how  he 
had  endured  the  long  time  since  the  day  before.  He 
could  recall  no  impression  save  the  continuous  dread  that 
he  might  be  killed  before  the  hour  set  for  going  home 
with  Whateley.  He  argued  that  it  would  be  his  luck 
to  die  just  before  that  supreme  moment.  And  about 
the  time  when  he  had  made  himself  ready  to  meet  the 
old  man  there  came  a  rap  on  his  door.  "  You  have 
garbed  yourself  for  the  long-expected  guest,"  was  the 
thought  which  like  a  black  swallow  flew  from  the  dark 
through  the  murky  light  of  his  mind  and  out  again  into 
the  dark.  But  he  did  not  hesitate.  Dramatically  he 
threw  open  the  door,  and  there  stood  a  man,  in  appear 
ance  not  unlike  an  avenger,  but  who  inquired  whether 
there  were  any  clothes  for  him  to  press.  .  .  .  After 
all  he  might  live  to  reach  Whateley 's  home.  He  did. 

Little  Calvin  saw  him  enter  the  door,  and  ran  to  him 
with  a  shout  of  joy.  The  Poet  knew  that  someone  else 
was  approaching,  but  he  did  not  look  up,  hugging  the 
little  fellow  close;  and  then  his  nerves  began  to  sing, 
for  he  heard  a  voice,  and  as  he  put  the  boy  down  the 
youngster  cried,  "  You  are  cold,  Mr.  Howerson.  You 
shake  like  my  dog  when  he  shivers. ' '  Cold,  he  had  been, 
but  now  he  burned.  Full  knowledge  of  all  his  weak 
nesses  took  strong  hold  upon  him,  and  he  felt  that  all 
honest  eyes  must  read  the  bold  print  of  his  pretentious, 
his  self-flattery,  the  difference  that  lay  between  him 

323 


324  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

and  men  who  had  tallowed  their  way  to  fortune.  But 
when  he  felt  the  frank  and  friendly  grasp  of  her  hand, 
heard  the  welcoming  music  of  her  soft  laugh,  he  could 
have  cried  another  welcome,  the  return  of  his  stronger 
self.  And  her  eyes  looked  him  full  of  ease  and  confi 
dence,  and  he  wondered  whether  down  through  life  he 
was  always  to  be  weak  when  away  from  her. 

At  the  table  Whateley  was  full  of  jests,  poked  genial 
fun  at  Dan,  laughed  over  his  recent  trip  "  abroad," 
mentioning  objects  and  incidents  of  which  Howerson  had 
not  supposed  he  had  taken  notice.  "  And,  Harriet,  my 
dear,"  said  the  old  man,  "  when  I  told  Mr.  Howerson 
I  was  going  to  issue  him  stock  in  the  great  concern  which 
—  ah  —  he  has  brought  about,  he  refused  to  accept,  said 
that  if  I  did  he  would  make  over  the  shares  to  little 
Calvin." 

Hereupon  Harriet  turned  from  tea  to  give  to  the 
Poet  a  grateful  look ;  and  with  a  wave  of  his  fork  the  boy 
shouted.  ' '  Ho,  Mr.  Howerson  give  me  a  wolf  coat  —  ' ' 

"  Gave,  not  give,  Calvin,"  his  mother  corrected  him. 

"  Pete  says  '  give.'  Pete  says  '  gave  '  is  sissy.  And 
it  is,  ain't  it,  Mr.  Howerson?  " 

"I'm  afraid  it  is,  sometimes."  But  not  caring  to  be 
put  down  as  a  false  instructor,  he  added:  "  However, 
Calvin,  Pete  may  be  wrong  a  part  of  the  time,  at  least." 

"  Yes,"  the  boy  cried.  "  He  said  you  couldn't  lick 
Fitzsimmons  and  I  dabbed  mud  on  his  snoot." 

Clatter  went  the  old  man's  knife  on  his  plate  and  he 
threw  himself  back  with  a  laugh.  The  boy's  father 
laughed  too,  but  his  mother  surrendered  herself  to  a 
pinched  look  that  remained  long  after  the  talk  had  wan 
dered  to  other  subjects.  After  a  time,  however,  the  more 
engaging  side  of  her  nature  revealed  itself.  She  talked 
to  Howerson  about  poetry,  asked  him  whether  he  did 


MIGHT  LIVE  TO  REACH  THERE          325 

not  think  that  when  women  were  given  an  equal  chance 
they  would  take  rank  with  men. 

"  Poetry  is  one  thing  that  woman  has  had  an  equal 
chance  at  with  men,"  Rose  spoke  up. 

' '  Oh,  I  don 't  think  so,  do  you,  Mr.  Howerson  ?  ' '  Har 
riet  insisted. 

As  representative  of  the  Muse,  Howerson  shifted  and 
said,  "  Woman  herself  is  poetry.  She  doesn't  have  to 
write  it,  you  know.  She  —  ' '  He  caught  a  mischief  shaft 
shot  from  Rose's  eye.  "  She  is  the  goddess  of  all  inspi 
ration,"  he  went  on,  bowing  to  her. 

Harriet  had  heard,  she  said,  that  their  guest  was  a 
poet,  ah,  so  poetic.  She  would  greatly  like  to  hear  him 
give  one  of  his  own  favorites.  She  said  that  at  a  recep 
tion  one  night  she  had  met  a  foreign  poet.  She  had  met 
only  a  few  American  poets,  and  never  a  "  home  one." 
Oh,  yes,  reminded  by  Rose,  the  one  who  developed  such 
aptitude  for  "  ad  "  writing  and  another  one,  presented  to 
her  at  a  dog  show.  "  It  was  the  time  when  Mrs.  Sue 
Huck's  spaniel,  '  Geraldine,'  was  awarded  the  prize," 
she  said,  nodding  to  Dan;  and  then  with  generous  con 
tribution  she  added,  addressing  Howerson :  ' '  This  poet 
at  the  bench  show  was  introduced  as  Mr.  Josiah  Balch, 
and  when  I  asked  him  if  that  were  his  real  name  he 
looked  confused.  But  I  never  would  have  picked  him 
out  for  a  poet.  He  looked  more  like  a  —  " 
"  A  gentleman,"  Howerson  laughed. 
"  Well,  yes,  but  really  I  don't  mean  it  that  way.  But 
he  was  very  well  behaved.  I  asked  him  if  he  worked 
for  any  of  the  newspapers,  and  I  gathered  from  his 
answer  that  his  writing  was  too  fine  for  such  purposes. 
We  asked  him  to  recite  for  us  and  he  did,  but  the  dogs 
barked  so  we  couldn  't  catch  his  fine  shadings.  Will  you 
recite  for  us,  Mr.  Howerson?  " 


326  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Old  Whateley's  shoulders  sank  with  a  cowering  droop, 
but  they  straightened  up  again  when  Howerson  began 
to  speak.  ' '  My  dear  Mrs.  Whateley,  I  '11  gladly  rob  you 
a  railway  train  and  without  compunction  shoot  the 
express  messenger  between  his  startled  eyes  but  —  ' ' 

"  Gee!  "  cried  the  boy. 

"  But  I  must  humbly  bow  my  determination  not  to 
recite.  Wait  until  we  go  to  a  dog  show,  Mrs.  Whateley, 
and  I'll  outbark  the  loudest,  Geraldine  the  Spaniel  or 
Big  Mike  the  Mastiff." 

Now  came  Whateley's  verdict  from  which  there 
must  be  no  appeal,  no  cavil  or  exception :  ' '  Mr.  How 
erson  is  a  business  man,  a  discoverer  and  a  promoter  of 
the  highest  order.  So  far  as  I  am  able  to  estimate,  there 
have  been  but  three  or  four  poets  at  the  most.  The  world 
has  been  rich  in  —  ha  —  great  thinkers,  but  a  poet  not 
only  thinks;  he  sets  fire  to  his  thoughts.  They  blazed 
in  the  midnight  of  poverty  and  ignorance.  But  when 
the  sun  arose  their  flames  were  pale.  The  poets  of 
to-day  are  only  striking  matches  in  the  sun." 

"  Better  to  be  a  firefly  in  the  night,"  Howerson  said 
in  a  f unless  laugh,  for  beneath  the  verdict  he  felt  a  cool 
shudder  creeping  slowly  over  him.  He  could  have  cried 
out  that  he  did  not  believe  it,  that  truth  and  beauty  were 
metered  every  day  and  would  be  until  words,  squeezed 
dry,  should  be  but  husks;  but  he  knew,  also,  that  men 
trained  in  universities  for  the  commercial  keennesses  of 
life  would  look  on  poetry  as  dear  old  nursery  tales,  all 
of  them  told. 

In  the  library  old  Whateley's  talk  seemed  to  tend 
toward  a  "  Cabin  Night,"  and  with  that  hope  the  Poet 
was  thrilled,  but  when  the  hour  had  grown  soft  with 
jest  and  friendly  confidence,  there  came  an  old  man  with 
blue  veins  showing  through  the  red  of  his  jaws.  His 


MIGHT  LIVE  TO  REACH  THERE          327 

mission  was  to  make  further  inquiry  into  the  aims  of 
the  new  company.  Howerson  had  the  heart  to  crush  the 
fat  and  loathsome  worm,  but  soon  afterward  to  bless  him. 
Calvin  was  taken  protesting  off  to  bed,  Dan  and  Harriet 
withdrew  themselves,  the  inquirer  was  conducted  to  the 
Inquisition,  and  the  Poet  was  alone  with  Rose.  "  God 
bless  the  dear  old  soap  boiler,"  he  mused. 

' '  When  I  was  here  the  last  time,  the  night  of  a  recep 
tion,  I  met  a  Mr.  —  what  was  him  name  ?  A  very  tall 
man,  seemed  to  be  exceedingly  well  informed. ' ' 

"  Oh,"  she  spoke  up  after  careful  research  of  her 
mind,  "  you  must  mean  Mr.  Smill." 

"  Smill?  Yes,  I  remember  now.  "What  has  become 
of  him?  " 

"  I  think  he  has  returned  to  Pittsburgh.  He  is  very 
busy. ' ' 

' '  Struck  me  as  being  a  remarkable  man. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  he  is  —  cultivated  and  endowed  with  such  com 
mon  sense." 

Endowed !  That  was  a  fine  way  to  put  it.  ' '  And  not 
afflicted  with  too  much  sentiment,"  he  ventured. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all.  He  has  the  exaggerated  sanity 
of  the  age,  no  sentiment  at  all." 

He  could  not  keep  back  "  Thank  you." 

She  looked  at  him  and  he  had  not  thought  that  lumi 
nous  eyes  could  narrow  into  a  light  so  sharp.  "  Thank 
you  for  so  apt  a  figure,"  he  said. 

The  light  in  her  eyes  was  wide  again. 

"  When  he  was  here  last  he  asked  a  question  that 
reminded  me  of  the  raillery  in  your  letter,  Mr.  How 
erson." 

"  Please  don't  speak  of  that  silly  screed." 

"  It  wasn't  silly.  It  was  delightful.  It  was  so  —  so 
unintended.  You  know  that  the  letter  not  meant  to  be 


328  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

printed  is  always  the  best.  Then  how  much  more  charm 
attaches  to  the  letter  not  intended  to  be  read." 

He  bowed.  "  I  deserve  all  this;  but  what  was  his 
question?  " 

' '  Why,  he  wanted  to  know  who  had  staged  our  house 
hold." 

He  looked  at  her  steadily.  "  And  you  could  have 
answered  '  Fate.'  ' 

She  laughed  and  he  was  grieved  to  feel  that  she  had 
not  received  the  hoary  old  word  more  seriously. 

Old  Paul  announced  the  Rev.  Dr.  Henshaw.  It  would 
have  been  a  violation  of  polite  custom  and  a  slight  infrac 
tion  of  the  civil  code  had  Howerson  taken  the  old  gentle 
man  by  his  ears  and  hauled  him  out.  Rose  might  have 
been  startled  and  Dr.  Henshaw  himself  might  have  been 
astonished,  but  in  his  soul  the  Poet  believed  that  God 
granted  to  him  that  right. 

"  My  Dear  Mr.  Howard  —  Howarton,  I  am  delighted 
to  meet  you  again,"  and  with  a  three-quarter  turn  from 
the  Poet  he  gave  to  Rose  his  light  gray  smile.  He  scoured 
his  palms  together,  washing  his  hands  of  the  Poet's 
presence,  but  turned  slightly  about  when  Rose  addressed 
a  remark  to  the  neglected  one,  and  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  mouth  gave  to  him  the  delayed  remnant  of  a 
smile.  Then  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  anchored  for 
the  evening.  He  appeared  so  comfortable  that  Howerson 
dared  the  hope  that  he  might  recall  one  of  his  own 
sermons  and  drop  off  to  sleep.  But  not  the  doctor;  he 
was  too  much  given  to  talk. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  that  we  may  confidently  look 
forward  to  a  very,  very  successful  year. ' '  Then  turning 
about  and  presenting  graciously  one  half  of  his  coun 
tenance  to  Howerson,  he  added,  "  Yes?  "  as  if  he 
expected  enthusiastic  confirmation.  Howerson  knit  his 


MIGHT  LIVE  TO  REACH  THERE  329 

brows,  dropping  a  stitch,  and  replied  unconcernedly  that 
he  supposed  so.  The  doctor  was  a  little  annoyed  that 
he  had  not  hoped  so;  and  the  man  who  made  faith  a 
trade  now  looked  an  inquiry  at  the  Poet.  "  We  must 
work  to  save  souls,  Mr.  Howerson."  He  had  hit  upon 
the  name. 

' '  We  must  work,  sir,  to  save  bodies,  and  a  saved  body 
may  mean  a  saved  soul." 

Rose  smiled  and  the  doctor  hemmed  and  hawed  up  a 
platitude,  sanctioned  by  old  men  looking  for  a  soft  spot 
in  eternity  and  women  who  take  Gospel  and  scandal  for 
granted.  "  Ah,  my  dear  sir,  the  body  is  for  this  world, 
corrupt;  but  the  soul  is  for  God."  And  with  this 
squelcher  he  gave  a  gleam  of  gold  set  in  a  false  tooth. 
"  Man  is—" 

"  Man  is  dramatized,"  said  Howerson. 

"  Beg  pardon." 

"  Dramatized  and  didn't  dramatize  himself.  I 
wouldn't  give  a  whoop  for  all  your  free  moral  belief. 
What,  a  moral  agent  for  a  few  years,  with  eternity 
behind  and  before  you?  " 

"  Ah,  but  such  discussions  are,  I  might  say,  fruitless. 
Our  dear  Miss  Whateley  could  never  believe  —  ' ' 

But  bolder  than  she  had  been  if  alone  with  the  Poet, 
Rose  shut  off  the  preacher  with,  "  I  believe  my  mind 
is  kin  to  Mr.  Howerson 's.  I  have  felt  it  all  along,  since 
the  first  day  I  met  him.  He  is  my  brother  of  the  drama. ' ' 

' '  Ha,  such  skepticism  of  the  real  truth  rolls  across  the 
sea  of  life  in  waves,  leaving  on  the  distant  shore  no 
echo  of  its  ripple,"  declared  the  doctor.  "  I  hope  I  am 
to  see  Mr.  Whateley  this  evening."  Doubtless  he  was, 
for  at  that  moment  they  heard  the  old  man  and  his 
inquisitorial  visitor  talking  down  the  hall  toward  the 
front  door.  A  few  moments  later  the  master  of  the 


330  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWEESON 

house  came  in.  He  shook  the  doctor's  hand  with  his 
usual  warmth  or  rather  his  usual  want  of  it,  and  hoped 
that  the  good  man  was  still  strong  in  the  fight.  Henshaw, 
rubbing  his  hands  so  vigorously  to  prove  his  strength 
that  he  popped  a  knuckle,  declared  himself  in  better 
form  than  he  had  ever  been  before.  His  mind  was  so 
much  clearer,  his  facts  so  much  more  abundant,  that 
he  was  able,  he  might  say,  to  ring  harder  blows  on  old 
Satan's  mail  than  he  could  possibly  have  dealt  in  the 
less  equipped  years  gone  by.  Then  suddenly  he  seemed 
to  recall  a  former  impression,  that  in  Whateley's  estima 
tion  Howerson  stood  high.  Toward  the  Poet  he  turned 
the  manner  of  repentence,  spoke  to  him  soothingly,  was 
glad  that  dear  Miss  Whateley  had  found  in  him  a 
brother;  and  from  this  bungler  Howerson 's  look  was 
quickly  shifted  to  Whateley's  countenance,  but  the  old 
man  had  been  dull  to  the  doctor's  remark. 

"  My  very  dear  Mr.  Whateley,"  said  Dr.  Henshaw, 
"  I  have  just  had  a  talk  with  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Jane 
Penobscot  Barnes." 

"  Who  is  she?  " 

' '  What,  Mrs.  Jane  Penobscot  Barnes !  She  is  the 
world's  leading  suffragette,  from  England." 

"  What's  she  doing  over  here?  " 

"  Why,  my  dear  Mr.  Whateley,  she  is  furthering  the 
cause.  Make  sport  of  it  as  we  may,  one  day  that  cause 
will  ride  triumphant  over  the  jeers  of  men." 

"One  day.    And  where  will  it  ride  the  next  day?  " 

"  On  the  billows  of  eternal  right,  Mr.  Whateley." 

"  Maybe  so.     And  then  good-bye  to  civilization." 

' '  Why,  my  dear  Mr.  Whateley,  you  astonish  me  — 
and  in  the  presence  of  one  of  the  most  —  er  —  charming 
of  her  sex.  Why,  really,  you  almost  shock  me." 

Eose   laughed  and  Whateley   crossed  his  legs.     "  I 


MIGHT  LIVE  TO  REACH  THERE  331 

don't  want  to  do  that,  Doctor.  But  perhaps  some  of 
your  beliefs  might  shock  me  —  my  intelligence,  for 
instance. ' ' 

The  doctor  winced  but  smiled  and  said  "  Yes?  " 
"  Decidedly.    Now  I  don't  believe  that  man  has  made 
a  complete  success  of  civilization,  don't  believe  he  ever 
will,  but—" 

"  But  with  woman  to  help  him,"  the  doctor  inter 
rupted,  while  Howerson  sat  there  wishing  all  discussions 
sunk  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

' '  Woman  to  help  him  make  a  completer  failure.  Doc 
tor,  the  pretty  little .  duplicities  of  woman,  her  nature- 
endowed  defences  against  man  —  ' ' 

"  She  couldn't  do  worse,  Mr.  Whateley,  than  to  buy 
her  way  into  the  Senate." 

"  No,  but  she  might  try  to  flirt  her  way  in." 
"  That  wouldn't  cost  the  state  anything." 
"  Cost  the  world  her  romance  and  her  sentiment," 
Howerson  protested,  and  Whateley  gave  to  him  a  gra 
cious  nod.  The  doctor,  now  thoroughly  girded,  not  only 
stood  braced  for  the  shock  of  attack,  but  led  an  assault. 
He  fought  for  woman,  blessed,  trampled-on  but  still 
gloried  woman.  And  during  the  jolt  and  clamor  of 
strife  Howerson  plucked  the  chance-flowers  of  a  few 
words  with  Rose,  but  he  felt  that  in  Whateley 's  gracious 
nod  there  was  a  kindly  dismissal  and  he  arose  to  take 
his  leave.  "  The  two  old  roosters,"  as  he  had  mentally 
termed  them,  were  so  rough- feathered  of  neck,  and  so 
spur-whetting  of  heel  that  they  scarcely  took  heed  of 
his  departure.  But  Rose  went  with  him  to  the  front 
door. 

' '  Such  contention  is  not  native  to  our  play, ' '  he  said, 
lingering,  looking  back.  "  It  slows  the  drama  where  it 
ought  to  be  swift. ' ' 


332  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Our  drama,"  she  laughed.  "  In  our  drama  we 
ought  always  to  be  made  to  feel  that  something  vital  is 
about  to  happen." 

' '  Yes,  in  our  —  our  kin-drama, ' '  he  said. 

They  heard  the  muffled  strike  and  the  fluttery  rebound 
of  the  old  roosters.  They  heard  the  church  cock  crow 
as  if  he  must  have  torn  a  wattle,  and  then  they  heard 
him  squawk.  But  the  real  drama  hung  dreamily  about 
the  front  door.  One  word  might  have  made  it  leap,  but 
that  right  word  the  grim  old  time-mocking  Dramatist 
withheld.  .  .  .  And  mute  they  stood  as  if  listening 
to  music  lisping  from  some  distant  and  lonely  lover's 
flute. 

"Oh,  in  my  letter  I  spoke  of  seeing  old  Col.  Banstree 
again  and  of  his  speaking  so  kindly  of  you." 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

' '  Would  you  care  to  go  over  to  his  armory  to-morrow 
afternoon?  " 

"  Nothing  could  give  me  more  pleasure." 

"  Then  I  will  meet  you  here,  at  two  o'clock,"  she  said, 
with  a  kindly  nod  of  dismissal. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
COLONEL  BANSTREE 

In  his  room  the  Poet  mused:  "  If  Yal  were  here  I'd 
wager  him  Arcadia  against  old  Crusoe's  isle  that  those 
Dogs  of  Corinth  mouth  me  before  to-morrow  afternoon. 
I  used  to  live  from  shaky  hand  to  eager  mouth,  but  now 
—  from  trembling  heart  to  frightened  soul.  But  let  us 
have  no  moribund  rhapsody,  old  man."  He  sat  down 
to  read,  betting  with  himself  he  'd  find  old  Rousseau  dull, 
which  he  did.  Sharper  the  bite  and  pinch  of  fear  than 
any  book  ever  written,  and  heavy  dread  makes  all  books 
seem  the  heavier.  But  now  as  he  let  the  volume  fall 
he  knew  that  it  was  not  the  fear,  the  dread  of  Annie 
and  the  Agents  that  oppressed  him.  It  was  the  ache  of 
being  only  a  brother.  "  But,  fool,  you  couldn't  even 
dimly  hope  to  marry  her,  could  you?  "  he  asked  of  him 
self,  and  answered,  "  Old  Yal  said  it  was  in  the  drama." 

Morning  came  and  the  sun  at  the  window  found  him 
alive  but  worrying  again  with  the  first  wink  of  waking. 
He  spent  the  forenoon  in  looking  for  a  room.  In  an  old 
building  hidden  among  warehouses  not  far  from  the 
river,  he  settled  on  a  large  apartment  which  years  ago 
might  have  served  some  bachelor  of  taste,  for  though 
the  walls  were  not  free  from  grime,  the  design  of  painted 
decorations  could  still  be  followed,  a  Spanish  youth  sing 
ing  beneath  a  window.  From  the  ceiling  hung  a  chande 
lier  so  massive  and  so  ornate,  so  out  of  atmosphere,  as 
to  suggest  that  some  old  mansion  had  been  drawn  upon, 
the  bronze  display  of  some  owner  or  tenant  coming  after 

333 


334  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

the  sojourn  of  the  tasteful  decorator.  Adjoining  was  a 
small  bedroom,  in  one  corner  a  sheet  of  tin  nailed  pre 
sumably  over  a  rat  hole.  But  the  floor  was  sound  and 
reasonably  clean  except  about  the  grate  fireplace,  which 
bore  marks  of  bohemian  cookery.  The  main  room  had 
also  a  fireplace,  a  black  marble  mantelpiece  and 
above  it  a  forgotten  portrait  of  an  old  man  dream 
ing  by  the  fire,  arm  hanging  limp  and  pipe  gone 
out.  This  room  was  on  a  corner  at  the  intersection 
of  two  corridors,  with  a  door  opening  out  into  each 
hallway.  It  was  only  one  story  up  and  upon  the  whole 
was  the  secluded  place  pictured  by  the  Poet.  And  now 
for  a  special  telephone  wire.  At  noon  he  found  Whate- 
ley  in  his  office  and  requested  the  permission  to  put  in 
the  exclusive  service.  The  old  man  looked  sharply  at 
him. 

"  It  is  because  I  don't  wish  to  be  called  up  idly,  Mr. 
Whateley." 

"  Yes,  a  good  idea,  Mr.  Howerson.  Have  it  attended 
to  at  once." 

So  that  was  settled ;  and  now,  to  wait  for  two  o  'clock, 
which  surely  could  not  come.  All  the  clocks  would 
stop.  Time  itself  would  stagger  and  fall  dead;  and  in 
the  street  newsboys  would  cry  "  All  about  the  death 
of  time!  "  Maids  would  weep  and  old  men  with  notes 
in  bank  would  laugh  and  shake  their  winter  heads.  But 
it  was  better  to  walk  about  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Whateley  home,  to  be  near  at  hand  in  case  Time  should 
survive ;  and  he  hung  about  a  tower  on  which  there  was 
a  monstrous  clock,  with  a  great  bell  that  clanged  out 
"  one  "  and  moaned,  for  that  was  to  be  the  last.  But 
the  minute  hand  was  still  alive,  convulsive  after  the 
death  of  his  brother,  the  heavier  recorder.  Soon  it 
would  die  too.  What  ?  —  one  thirty  ?  A  miracle  surely. 


COLONEL  BANSTREE  335 

Slowly  he  strode  toward  Whateley's  house,  and  after 
turning  back  occasionally  as  if  he  had  lost  something, 
reached  there  just  in  time.  Rose  was  ready,  and  uncon 
cernedly  she  came  out  with  him,  little  suspecting  the 
danger  out  of  which  the  world  had  just  emerged. 

Old  Col.  Banstree's  armory  was  not  far  off  and  of  this 
fact  Howerson  had  been  warned,  but  they  came  within 
sight  of  the  place  without  having  said  anything  to 
"  advance  the  plot."  In  another  moment  there  they 
were,  in  Banstree's  museum  of  swords,  all  sorts,  hefty 
slashers  from  the  middle  ages,  boudoir  splinters  of  death 
from  politer  times,  down  to  the  sabers  that  flashed  with 
Forrest  and  with  Sheridan. 

There  was  the  old  man,  past  eighty,  towering,  with 
a  wrist  of  iron  and  an  eye  of  blue  steel.  He  gripped 
Howerson  by  the  shoulders  and  turned  him  about  to 
catch  a  better  light;  he  laughed  over  him,  and  poor  old 
eighty  years  of  human  nature  was  here  suspected  of 
exuberant  gladness  toward  the  Poet  on  account  of  the 
company  he  was  keeping,  for  surely  in  that  former  day 
when  the  actor  had  come  to  receive  a  groat's  worth  of 
skill,  the  colonel  though  kind  had  not  made  so  much 
of  him. 

In  the  presence  of  ladies  the  colonel  would  have  set 
a  sixteenth  century  knight  the  task  of  looking  to  his 
laurels,  and  as  he  regarded  Miss  Whateley  as  the  queen 
of  all  women,  proving  by  notebook  and  memory  that 
he  had  met  them  all,  he  now  was  first  gentleman  in 
the  gorgeous  court  of  self-conceit.  Strange  nomad  of 
fortune  was  this  old  man,  choosing  with  mystery  to 
keep  himself  interesting,  a  book  of  adventure  glimpsed 
into  but  never  read.  Native  of  Norway,  fencing  master 
in  many  lands,  soldier  for  love  of  glorified  strife,  a  com 
panion  of  Maximilian  in  ravished  Mexico,  galloping  in 


336  THE  NEW  MB.  HOWERSON 

the  vanguard  of  revolutions  through  South  America. 
It  was  even  hinted  that  he  had  stolen  a  princess  from 
the  throne-room  of  the  czar,  but  when  asked  directly  he 
would  shrug  his  high  shoulders.  "  Ah,  my  life  has  not 
been  free  from  episode." 

Howerson  stood  by  and  watched  Rose  fence  with  him, 
thorn  tree  and  althea  swept  by  a  gale;  but  when  this 
figure  had  passed  through  his  mind,  leaving  him  saner 
to  judge  of  the  picture,  he  knew  that  never  before  had 
he  seen  such  contrasts  of  grace.  When  the  combat  was 
over,  the  colonel  removed  his  silk  skull  cap  and  bowed 
his  hairless  head  almost  to  the  floor.  It  may  be  hard, 
as  all  stage  managers  believe,  for  bald-headed  men  to 
be  dignified,  without  a  hint  of  comedy,  but  old  Banstree 
broke  through  the  ruling  and  stood  a  statue  of  perfect 
gravity,  as  long  as  he  was  silent;  but  when  he  talked, 
and  it  must  have  been  due  to  his  animation,  his  scalp 
appeared  to  glisten  anew,  to  laugh.  Then  it  was  that 
sceptics  smiled  and  questioned  his  theft  of  a  princess. 

"  I  call  her  the  wonder-lady,  Mr.  Howerson.  Ah, 
where  can  you  find  such  grace?  And  with  such  skill! 
I  have  taught  her,  I  of  the  generations  gone;  and  you 
must  know,  my  old  time  friend,  that  when  man  in  society 
unbuckled  his  belt  and  laid  his  sword  aside,  the  true 
gentleman  departed  forever.  Come,  take  the  foil  and 
assume  your  neglected  accomplishment/' 

' '  I  am  more  than  rusty,  Colonel,  and  I  'd  be  ashamed 
for  Miss  Whateley  to  see  my  clumsiness." 

"  After  having  been  charmed  by  her  grace.  Ha,  yes. 
But  you  will  come  and  let  me  teach  you.  You  were  an 
apt  pupil.  You  would  have  made  your  mark.  You 
will  come  soon?  " 

"  Yes,  very  soon,  Colonel.  I  don't  hope  to  make  my 
mark,  but  I  like  the  exercise." 


COLONEL  BANSTREE  337 

"  Ah,  yes.  You  see  what  it  has  done  for  Miss —  I 
mean  what  Miss  Whateley  has  done  with  it.  Have  I 
not  a  pleasant  place  here?  "  He  turned  about  and 
waved  his  hand  toward  a  window  looking  out  over  a 
vacant  space  toward  an  old-fashioned  mansion  now  an 
automobile  club,  and  a  barn  that  looked  like  a  chapel. 

"  Here  on  the  first  floor,  as  you  see,  low,  where  the 
smell  of  the  sod  reaches  me  when  the  rain  falls.  And 
here,  Miss  Whateley,  where  your  gracious  kindness 
enabled  me  to  be  installed,  I  expect,  if  permitted  to 
remain  here,  to  live  to  be  a  —  may  I  say  a  hundred, 
Miss  Whateley?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  surely  a  hundred,  Colonel.  Why  should 
you  expect  to  be  cut  oif  in  your  prime?  " 

The  old  man  bowed  to  her.  "  Prime?  Ah,  not  quite 
but  almost.  But  for  my  —  my  experience,  I  should  feel 
not  the  half  of  my  years.  Men  have  premonitions  of 
death,  Mr.  Howerson,  but  I  have  premonition  of  long 
life.  I  shall  not  die  before  one  hundred,  and  —  ha-ha 
—  I  shall  then  decide  whether  I  desire  to  live  longer. 
Is  not  that  a  good  joke,  an  epigram?  Ah,  I  have  a 
present  for  you,  Mr.  Howerson.  Look!  " 

From  the  wall  he  took  down  a  broadsword  of  very 
ancient  make,  and  as  he  drew  the  blade  from  the  scab 
bard  and  flashed  it  in  the  air,  he  said,  "  Has  it  not 
slain  the  Turk?  And  as  bright  as  a  mirror.  My  friend 
of  the  old  time,  it  is  yours  to  take  away  with  you.  Put 
it  on  your  wall,  and  —  ha-ha  —  when  you  look  at  it, 
come  to  the  old  fencing  master  who  shall  live  to  be  a 
hundred,  and  take  a  lesson.  Here,  it  is  for  you." 

"  Oh,  no,  Colonel,"  Howerson  protested;  "  I  should 
feel  that  I  had  robbed  you." 

"  Well,  then  I  insist  on  being  robbed.     Ha-ha  —  is 


338  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

not  that  another  epigram?  Ha,  it  all  comes  from  my 
activity.  Miss  Whateley,  do  me  a  favor:  Tell  him  to 
take  it." 

"  Take  it,  please,  Mr.  Howerson, "  she  requested,  see 
ing  that  the  offer  was  sincere,  though  perhaps  she  did 
not  know  that  her  own  friendship  for  Howerson  had 
prompted  it. 

Now  it  was  time  to  go.  At  half  past  three  Rose  had 
an  appointment  at  home,  she  said.  Again  they  were  out 
in  the  open,  walking  slowly,  talking  about  the  old  swords 
man  who,  loath  to  see  them  take  their  leave,  had  cere- 
monied  them  to  the  street.  She  chatted  lightly  of  little 
things,  and  laughed  the  while,  and  he  laughed  too, 
though  neither  could  have  told  the  reason.  Love  is  some 
times  closest  and  dramas  often  speed  the  fastest  when 
with  no  thought  there  is  only  prattle.  Hearts  can  some 
times  be  fondest  when  lips  are  foolish. 

They  walked  and  laughed;  and  Cupid,  the  little  fool, 
did  not  snatch  the  prompter's  book  to  interpolate  a  cue. 
A  corner  turned,  and  there  was  the  great  house  ready 
to  swallow  up  another  opportunity.  Suddenly  the  Poet 's 
mind  halted,  though  his  physical  self  strode  on  in  swing 
with  the  long  and  slow  stride  of  the  woman.  Oppor 
tunity  for  what?  To  make  dishonorable  avowal  of  love 
or  honorable  confession  of  an  oath.  That  oath,  how  long 
ago!  Now,  again  it  came  out  of  the  past  like  a  remem 
bered  disease.  But  this  was  not  the  time  for  that  con 
fession.  What  was  it  the  time  for?  Delay.  The 
glamoring  mists  cleared  from  his  mind  and  he  knew  that 
the  soul-kin  play  could  lead  only  from  nothing  to  naught. 
"  Then  what  are  you  yearning  for,  you  idiot?  "  his 
heart  inquired  while  his  lips  spoke  out  idly  and  in 
laughter;  and  the  answer  was  there  before  the  question 


COLONEL  BANSTREE  339 

had  been  asked:  "  To  tell  her  that  I  love  her,  to  seize 
her  for  a  moment  in  my  arms,  feel  Jove's  lightning 
strike,  and  then  to  run  away." 

And  now  they  stood  in  front  of  the  big  iron  gate,  he 
holding  it  open.  "  I  have  enjoyed  our  visit,"  she  said, 
her  eyes  smiling.  "  It  was  a  rollic  all  the  way  home, 
the  freest  journey  I  ever  knew."  She  laughed,  and 
was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
OLD   SAM 

Like  two  children  coming  home  from  school  the 
"  pals  "  had  parted,  and  with  no  word  spoken  in  allu 
sion  to  the  future,  no  hint  as  to  an  early  meeting.  Poets 
are  adventurous,  not  to  say  sometimes  presumptuous,  but 
he  had  not  yet  dared  to  call  at  the  house,  not  invited 
for  the  occasion  and  offering  no  other  excuse  than  his 
desire  to  see  Miss  "Whateley.  They  must  continue  to 
meet,  if  to  meet  at  all,  by  a  sort  of  theft;  and  often 
he  was  hurt  by  the  thought,  edged  sometimes  to  the  sharp 
belief  that  in  this  theft  might  lie  her  enjoyment  of  his 
society. 

The  room  in  the  old  building  had  been  fitted  up,  the 
special  wire  installed.  The  walls  were  washed,  the  floor 
carpeted,  and  here  with  table  beneath  the  chan 
delier,  the  Poet  sat  down  among  books  to  read,  to 
muse  and  to  plot.  Sometimes  he  would  take  the  old 
broadsword  down  from  the  wall  and  with  it  make  the 
air  shrill  with  the  whistle  of  his  stroke.  A  week  passed 
with  no  commission  to  go  out  of  town.  But  now  he  did 
not  wish  to  go  away.  His  heart  yearned  for  another 
invitation  from  the  old  man,  and  several  times  he  hung 
about  the  office,  waiting;  but  Whateley  was  always  busy, 
and  aside  from  a  kindly  and  respectful  greeting  had 
little  to  say  to  him. 

One  day  as  he  was  coming  down  out  of  the  office  the 
notion  to  call  on  old  Banstree  struck  him ;  and  he  smiled 

340 


OLD  SAM  341 

in  pity  of  himself  that  he  had  so  long  put  off  the  taking 
of  a  lesson,  for  at  the  armory  he  might  meet  Rose.  He 
hastened  along  the  street,  wondering  why  he  had  not 
sooner  snatched  at  this  chance,  when  there  came  a  quick 
clap  on  his  shoulder ;  and  leaping  about  he  stood  facing 
Sam  Joyce,  the  old  Sam  of  the  vague  but  now  happily 
recalled  ancient  day  at  Glenwich. 

"  Your  house  afire?  "  Joyce  said,  laughing,  as  How- 
erson  gripped  him  by  the  hand. 

"  Sam  —  I'm  glad  it's  you."  And  he  was.  "  How 
are  you,  old  man?  How  are  you?  " 

"  If  I  felt  better  I'd  have  to  take  something  for  it," 
Sam  said,  shaking  his  friend's  hand,  holding  it  off  to 
one  side,  bringing  it  back  and  shaking  it  again,  while 
upon  him  the  Poet  poured  the  glow  of  friendship  and  of 
gratitude.  An  onlooker  might  well  have  taken  them 
for  twins  of  sentiment  and  of  sacred  purpose  reunited 
after  many  years.  But  friendship  is  sometimes  as  much 
a  matter  of  moments  as  of  years.  The  years  may  be 
fruitful  in  the  discovery  of  the  antagonisms  of  character, 
while  the  hours  may  bring  out  congenialities. 

Joyce  was  in  for  a  time,  he  said,  waiting  for  the 
Western  hat  trade  to  halt  and  blow  a  while  in  its  uphill 
pull.  ' '  I  believe  I  told  you  before  that  about  as  unwise 
a  thing  as  a  traveling  man  can  do  is  to  overstock  his 
customers.  Recognize  the  truth  with  them  that  times 
are  dull  and  are  likely  to  be  duller.  Don't  wait  for 
your  customer  to  compel  you  to  see  the  handwriting  on 
the  board  fence.  Seeing  it  before  he  does  is  good  policy 
in  trade.  Let's  turn  in  here  and  get  a  bite  to  eat.  I'm 
as  hungry  as  a  shark." 

They  went  into  a  restaurant,  where  amid  the  noon 
time  clatter  Joyce  resumed  his  commercial  homily. 
Some  time  elapsed  before  Howerson  was  sufficiently 


342  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

recovered  from  his  shock  to  speak  except  in  broken 
rhapsody  of  his  "  delightful  surprise." 

"  But  why  were  you  in  such  a  rush,  old  boy?  You 
jumped  like  a  movie  when  it  strikes  a  gap  in  the  film." 

"  I  was  thinking  about —  " 

"  A  footrace.  I  see.  Say,  but  you  did  raise  Cain 
out  at  Glenwich.  Every  man  that  owns  a  patch  of  dog 
fennel  out  there  thinks  he's  a  millionaire.  You've  made 
the  old  burg  hump  and  no  mistake.  Whenever  you  want 
a  banquet,  drop  off  the  train  out  there.  And,  by  the 
way,  you've  done  me  no  end  of  good,  for  being  a  friend 
of  mine  you've  boomed  my  trade.  The  biggest  merchant 
in  the  town,  one  that  I've  been  trying  in  vain  for  years 
to  land,  came  over  to  the  hotel  the  other  day  and  sur 
rendered  of  his  own  accord.  Why,  it 's  money  in  a  fellow 's 
pocket  to  be  on  speaking  terms  with  you,  George.  What 
are  you  going  to  eat  ?  ' ' 

Howerson  gave  his  order  and  then  turned  to  his 
friend.  "  What  I  owe  to  you  it  would  be  impossible 
for  you  to  understand.  I  hinted  at  an  explanation, 
could  only  hint  at  it,  and  am  not  going  to  do  even  that 
much  now.  With  a  certain  object  in  view  I  am  going  to 
ask  you  a  few  questions.  Are  you  tired  of  the  road?  " 

Joyce  cleared  his  throat.  ' '  Was  a  harnessed  dog  ever 
tired  of  a  churn?  Was  an  old  knock-kneed  mule  catch 
ing  sight  of  a  green  pasture  far  way,  ever  tired  of  the 
treadmill?  Tired!  Lord!  Perhaps  you  don't  know 
what  it  is  to  put  up  with  the  snarls  of  an  ignorant 
grouch,  sitting  in  his  back  room,  hating  all  the  world 
and  you  in  particular  when  you  come  in  to  extend  your 
trade.  Maybe  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  have  your 
education  and  your  manhood  continuously  insulted. 
You  may  not  know  what  it  is  of  a  Christmas  Eve  to  sit 
in  a  miserable  railway  station  away  out  on  the  snow- 


OLD  SAM  343 

covered  plains,  with  your  heart  full  of  a  beautiful 
woman  and  two  glorious  kids  at  home.  .  .  .  This 
meat  pie's  been  near  the  fire.'* 

Howerson's  hand  lay  for  a  moment  on  his  friend's 
arm,  an  unconscious  caress.  "  You  have  made  me  know, 
Sam,"  he  said.  "  And  it  must  not  be." 

"  Got  to  be  for  years  yet,  George." 

"  Until  when?  " 

' '  Until  I  can  buy  into  the  firm. ' ' 

"  How  much?  " 

"  Oh,  not  so  very  much,  but  it  will  take  a  long  time, 
for  I'm  not  of  a  saving  nature.  Ten  thousand  dollars." 

"  You  shall  have  the  money  to-morrow. 

' '  Look  here,  George,  what  are  you  trying  to  say  ?  ' : 

"  To-morrow.     I  will  borrow  it  from  Mr.  Whateley." 

"  But  good  Lord,  man,  I  couldn't  pay  it  back  in —  ' 

' '  You  will  pay  it  back  when  it  is  due :  in  one  thou 
sand  years.  You  can't  get  away  from  it.  I've  thought 
about  it  many  a  time.  It 's  in  the  drama.  I  have,  let  us 
say,  blundered  into  making  good  for  Mr.  Whateley. 
And  he  is  appreciative.  It  will  be  an  advance  on  my 
salary ;  and  after  this  year,  old  man,  I  shall  be  receiving 
at  least  twenty-five  thousand  annually.  Don't  stare  at 
me,  Sam.  Steady  yourself  and  take  things  as  they 
come.  I've  had  to  do  it.  What's  that?  I  haven't 
known  you  but  a  short  time?  Puck  said  what  fools. 
He  ought  to  have  added  what  liars.  I've  known  you 
all  my  life,  or  rather  since  my  resurrection  —  when  my 
life  really  began,  but  of  course  you  aren't  supposed  to 
understand.  I  shall  have  that  money  for  you  to-morrow 
and  you're  going  to  take  it.'" 

Joyce  was  honest,  a  reason  doubtless  why  he  had  not 
been  able  to  enter  the  firm  years  before.  He  steadied 
himself  as  commanded,  but  with  a  protest,  admitting, 


344  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

however,  that  Howerson  had  flashed  before  his  eyes  his 
own  bright  dream. 

"  Lord,  the  wife  would  be  tickled,  and  the  kids  — 
George,  you've  got  to  come  out  with  me,  as  soon  as  you 
can.  ...  I  can  see  them  all  dancing  around  the 
room,  holding  hands.  I  'm  not  much  given  to  sentiment ; 
I  feed  more  on  crust  than  mush,  but  some  things  get 
me  and  get  me  hard.  ...  I  can  pay  that  money 
back.  ...  I'll  take  it,  George." 

Howerson  sprawled  back  with  a  laugh  so  loud  that 
women  stenographers,  prim  and  circumspect  over  their 
public  coffee  and  pie,  looked  around  at  him.  ' '  Take  it  ? 
Why  there  has  never  been  any  question  as  to  that  fact. 
It  was  recorded  in  the  book  with  the  first  tick  of  time. 
Come  along  with  me,"  he  added  as  they  arose.  "  We 
are  going  to  see  a  character  in  a  romance  of  many 
nations. ' ' 

As  they  walked  along  Howerson  told  him  about  old 
Colonel  Banstree.  They  got  into  a  car,  rode  until  near 
the  house  of  many  swords,  then  proceeded  to  walk, 
Joyce  inwardly  accounting  himself  the  happiest  man  in 
town.  What  a  surprise  for  his  wife  and  the  kids !  No  more 
desperate  Christmas  Eves  on  the  snow-shrouded  plains. 
Howerson  was  talking: 

' '  The  old  man  says  he 's  going  to  live  to  be  a  hundred, 
and  I  believe  it.  So  will  you  believe  it  when  you  see 
him.  He  has  a  premonition  that  he  must  round  the 
moss-covered  corner  of  a  century. ' ' 

"  But  if  he  is  already  eighty  it  may  be  the  vanity  of 
having  lived  so  long  that  inspires  his  premonition," 
said  Joyce. 

"  Yes,  it  may  be  vanity,"  Howerson  admitted,  "  but 
nothing  lives  longer  than  vanity,  you  know.  It  has  been 


OLD  SAM  345 

said  that  a  man  lives  about  as  long  as  he  cares  to.  In  the 
desire  to  live  there  is  life." 

"  If  that's  true,"  said  Joyce,  "  you  may  put  me 
down  for  a  couple  of  centuries.  I  never  was  keener  to 
live  than  I  am  to-day.  And  you  are  the  cause  of  it,  old 
man.  That  ten  thousand  —  I  can  hardly  realize  it;  it's 
a  dream,  and  pretty  soon  I'll  wake  up  out  on  the  road. 
There'll  come  a  loud  thump  on  the  door  and  a  gruff 
voice  will  call  out :  '  Four  fifteen !  '  and  then  1 11  get 
into  an  old  bus  and  rattle  off  to  the  railroad  station. 
But  I  'm  going  to  live  in  my  dream  as  long  as  I  can.  .  . 
Suppose  Whateley  won't  let  you  have  the  money?  "  he 
broke  off  suddenly. 

"  Don't  worry.    He  won't  refuse  me." 

"  He  might.  A  hope  may  open  the  door  of  a  guy's 
freedom  and  yet  he 's  half  afraid  it 's  locked.  Hope  may 
be  brave,  but  it  may  also  be  streaked  with  yellow,  you 
know.  It  isn't  often  I'm  a  coward,  George,  but  cow 
ardice  grabs  me  once  in  a  long  while.  .  .  .  We'll 
make  that  note  for  a  year.  I  can  do  better  when  I  drive 
down  a  stake  to  work  up  to.  I'll  pay  some  every  year 
and  renew  the  note." 

"  Without  interest,"  said  Howerson. 

"  But  don't  you  think  it  would  strike  Whateley  as 
being  more  businesslike  if  it  should  be  an  interest-bear 
ing  note?  " 

"  My  dear  Sam,  Whateley  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
The  thing  is  settled.  But  what  you  said  about  hope  just 
now  is  true.  When  we  hope,  the  soul  has  turned  gambler, 
and  sometimes  the  soul  coppers  its  bet." 

It  was  not  long  at  a  time  that  the  great  engine  of 
health  pumping  within  would  permit  Joyce  to  be  low 
and  anxious  of  spirit.  The  man  who  glamours  other 
men  can  nearly  always  glamour  himself.  The  man  who 


346  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

sells  gold  bricks  of  cheerfulness  is  likely  to  reserve  one 
of  them.  Like  a  lark,  Sam's  spirit  arose  and  sang. 

The  Poet 's  hope  was  that  at  the  armory  he  might  meet 
Rose.  Herald  of  this  hope  was  a  robin's  song.  And  in 
Rose's  treatment  toward  Joyce,  his  friend,  he  might  see 
reflected  her  regard  for  himself.  "  Tricky  art  thou  in 
thy  sublime  selfishness,  0  Love !  "  he  mused  and  thought 
himself  wise.  "  And  for  the  most  part  thou  art  shrewd, 
but  sometimes  thy  devices  are  as  glaring  as  the  paint  on 
Harlequin's  jaw." 

Upon  coming  to  the  armory  they  found  the  janitor 
standing  on  the  steps,  smoking  his  pipe,  while  in  the 
hallway  his  wife  was  scolding  a  boy  for  tracking  the 
floor  with  mud.  Recognizing  Howerson  as  a  companion 
of  Miss  Whateley,  the  janitor  took  off  his  cap  and  bowed 
himself  aside  to  let  the  visitors  enter. 

' '  Is  the  colonel  at  home  ?  ' '  Howerson  inquired. 

"  I  think  so,  sir.  I'll  see."  Along  the  hallway  he 
came  with  the  visitors,  talking  for  a  tip.  ' '  Fine  weather 
we  are  having,  sir,  especially  for  the  time  of  year." 

' '  Anybody  taking  a  lesson  ?  ' ' 

* '  There  might  be  someone  —  a  lady,  perhaps,  you 
know,  sir.  I  thank  you,  sir. ' '  Howerson  had  tipped  him. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  fencer 's  door.  How 
erson  listened  for  the  click  of  the  foils,  his  heart  beating 
hard.  Out  in  the  open  the  robin  was  singing.  "  He 
knows  that  we  are  to  meet  here,"  the  Poet  mused.  He 
knocked  on  the  door.  No  sound  within.  He  knocked 
again.  No  stir.  The  robin  sang.  The  janitor's  wife 
came  forward,  halted,  smiled  at  the  Poet.  "  He  must 
be  out,  but  I've  been  down  here  pretty  much  all  day 
and  didn't  see  him  go,"  she  said. 

"  It  ain't  locked,"  the  janitor  declared,  turning  the 
knob.  The  door  opened  part  way.  The  janitor  peeped 


OLD  SAM  ,  347 

in  and  sprang  back  — "  Good  God!  "  The  woman, 
quicker  than  Joyce  or  Howerson,  looked  in  and  drew 
back,  screaming,  her  hands  pressed  to  her  eyes.  The 
door  now  stood  wide  open,  and  the  two  friends  gazed 
upon  a  horrible  sight.  The  old  man  sat  with  his  arms  on 
a  table  in  front  of  him,  and  with  his  head  split  straight 
down  between  his  eyes,  a  great  gash  like  a  smear  of  red 
paint.  His  eyes  were  open,  startled ;  and  in  one  of  them 
a  drop  of  blood,  a  crimson  tear. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 
A  DOG  HOWLED 

The  body  was  not  yet  cold,  and  when  by  accident  a 
chair  was  overturned,  the  slight  jar  caused  the  wound 
to  bleed  afresh.  The  room  was  orderly,  the  swords  all 
in  their  places.  The  windows  looking  out  across  the 
stretch  of  lawn  were  all  of  them  down,  the  catches 
fastened.  These  observations  were  taken  quickly  by 
Joyce,  who  was  cooler  and  calmer  than  the  others.  Then 
he  turned  to  the  janitor  and  commanded  him  to  tele 
phone  to  the  police. 

The  screams  of  the  woman  called  down  sojourners 
from  the  upper  floors,  and  they  stood  about  the  door, 
whispering  their  horror.  A  dog  came  and  stood  with 
them,  and  when  he  saw  the  bloody  sight,  threw  up  his 
head  and  howled.  A  woman  drove  him  out.  She  had 
heard  him  howl  the  night  before,  she  said,  and  knew 
then  that  something  awful  was  going  to  happen  in  that 
house.  Near  a  window  Howerson  stood,  pale  and  shaken. 
This  one  time  mimic  was  looking  now  upon  the  smeared 
features  of  a  real  tragedy,  but  it  was  not  this  alone  that 
racked  him;  his  heart  had  beat  cold  with  Sam's  words 
"  telephone  to  the  police."  These  words  meant  the 
publication  of  his  name.  They  meant  that  he  was  to  be 
summoned  by  the  coroner,  that  the  "  Agents  of  Justice  " 
would  find  him.  He  heard  the  janitor  talking  over  the 
telephone.  There  was  no  escape. 

348 


A  DOG  HOWLED  349 

The  janitor  came  back  from  the  telephone  booth. 
"  They'll  be  right  over,"  he  said.  "  And  I'd  like  to 
see  how  they'll  go  about  finding  out  anything.  Why, 
gentlemen,  as  God  is  my  judge  I  see  the  colonel  walking 
in  the  hall  not  an  hour  ago,  and  see  him  go  into  his  room, 
and  I  know  I  wasn't  away  from  here  across  the  street 
more'n  ten  minutes;  and  my  wife  says  she  didn't  see 
anybody  come  into  the  building  while  I  was  gone. ' ' 

' '  I  wonder, ' '  said  Joyce,  ' '  if  anyone  could  have  been 
fencing  with  him  and  split  his  head  by  accident." 

"  No,"  said  Howerson.  "  There's  not  a  man  in  the 
world  that  could  have  come  down  across  his  head.  He 
could  foresee  an  accident  as  well  as  a  design.  And  he 
couldn't  have  inflicted  such  a  wound  himself." 

They  heard  the  gong  of  the  patrol  wagon.  ' '  George, ' ' 
said  Sam,  "  the  poor  old  colonel  ought  to  have  played 
his  premonition  with  a  copper." 

"  Yes.  But  his  premonition  was  only  a  part  of  the 
game,  the  mocking  jugglery  of  Fate.  That,"  he  con 
tinued,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  old  man,  "  does  not 
weaken  my  unfortunate  conviction  but  adds  to  it,  and 
before  long  you  may  see  something  that  I  cannot  see, 
and  then  you  will  recall  these  words." 

The  police  entered  the  room.  Everyone  was  com 
manded  to  remain  until  all  names  were  taken;  and 
when  Howerson  had  given  Whateley's  office  as  the  place 
where  at  any  time  he  might  be  found,  his  questioner 
eyed  him  sharply,  and  forthwith  treated  him  with  more 
respect  than  in  gruff  haste  he  had  set  out  to  show.  Now 
the  Poet's  blood  tingled  with  a  sudden  thought:  To 
Whateley's  home  he  would  be  the  bearer  of  this  dis 
tressful  news.  He  would  see  Rose.  Then  he  explained 
to  Sam,  "  I  am  going  over  to  Whateley's  for  a  very 
short  time.  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  go,  but  an  unpleasant 


350  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

one,  I  assure  you.  Miss  Whateley  was  very  much 
attached  to  the  poor  old  colonel  —  but  you  understand, ' ' 
he  broke  off,  hoping  that  Sam  didn't. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Sam. 

Thus  assured  that  his  friend  did  not  understand, 
Howerson  continued:  "  Stay  here,  Sam,  till  I  come 
back.  Of  course  I'm  not  going  to  bring  her  here; 
I'm  going  over  there  only  because  —  but  you  can 
understand." 

Sam  said  that  he  could,  and  Howerson  hastened  away 
with  winged  spirit  though  with  clod-stumbling  heels,  he 
felt.  When  he  had  rung  at  the  door  and  stood  listening 
for  old  Paul's  slippered  shuffle,  he  could  hear  nothing 
save  the  beating  of  his  own  heart ;  and  he  thought  of  an 
imprisoned  hawk  fighting  its  cage.  Paul  opened  the 
door,  looked  at  Howerson,  drew  back.  "  What  has  hap 
pened,  sir?  "  he  inquired  with  a  gasp. 

' '  Oh,  nothing  —  that  is  to  say,  nothing  has  happened 
at  the  office.  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Whateley  for  a  moment. ' ' 

"  She  is  not  at  home,  sir.  She  hasn't  been  gone  long, 
sir  —  went  out  with  a  party  of  ladies  and  a  gentleman 
in  the  auto.  Any  word  you  wish  to  leave  ?  ' ' 

"  Well,  perhaps  not.  The  evening  papers  will  inform 
her  that  her  old  friend  Colonel  Banstree  has  been 
murdered." 

' '  Is  it  possible !  Very  unfortunate,  I  'm  sure.  Board 
of  trade  man,  sir?  " 

' '  Good  Lord,  no.    The  old  fencer. ' ' 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  might  have  thought  so,  but  you  see,  sir, 
I  never  heard  of  him.  Anything  else,  sir?  " 

"Nothing.    Good  day." 

Sam  was  waiting  and  together  the  two  friends  strode 
slowly  back  toward  the  car  line,  interviewed  on  the  way 
by  reporters.  Sam  was  voluble,  Howerson  reserved ;  and 


A  DOG  HOWLED  351 

to  those  who  write  the  local  history  of  the  hour,  restraint 
on  the  part  of  the  questioned  is  sometimes  a  food  more 
stimulating  than  loquacity.  Suggestion  is  richer  than 
explanation. 

"  I  notice,"  said  Sam,  "  that  you  didn't  tell  them 
where  you  live.  Surely  yon  don't  sleep  at  Whateley's 
office." 

' '  No.  I  have  a  sort  of  monastery  all  my  own,  and  for 
reasons  —  same  old  story,  can 't  explain  —  I  don 't  want 
a  certain  part  of  the  public  to  know  where  I  live.  As 
yet  I  have  confided  the  secret  of  my  abode  to  no  one, 
but  I  'm  going  to  take  you  with  me  now. ' ' 

"  That's  a  compliment  all  right." 

"  It's  a  confidence,  anyhow;  and  if  anyone  should  be 
interested  enough  to  ask  you  if  you  know  where  I  live, 
lie  like  a  friend  and  say  you  don't." 

"  I'm  an  oyster,"  said  Sam.  "  They  may  swallow 
me,  but  I  peach  not." 

When  they  entered  Howerson  's  apartments  Sam  called 
the  place  a  hillside  cave.  "  With  a  club  I  suppose  you 
slew  the  former  possessor  and  dragged  him  out.  Or  with 
that  blade  up  there, ' '  he  added  pointing  to  the  sword  on 
the  wall." 

"  Sit  down  and  fill  a  pipe.  That  sword  was  given  to 
me  the  other  day  by  the  old  colonel." 

"  Yes?  Well,  let  it  hang  there.  I  haven't  much 
interest  in  swords.  Give  you  this  old  pipe,  too  ?  ' ' 

' '  No,  I  picked  that  up  hi  Canada.  Try  this  one  — 
and  some  good  tobacco." 

Sam  smoked,  mused  and  said:  "  George,  I  am  still  in 
my  dream." 

"  I  am  not  the  one  to  call '  four  fifteen  '  at  your  door," 
Howerson  replied  lightly,  though  his  mind  was  busy  with 
dreams  of  a  darker  hue. 


352  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

Sam  filled  his  pipe  again,  seeming  loath  to  leave  the 
Poet,  the  embodied  presence  of  his  hope.  For  a  long 
time  they  talked,  Sam  in  his  pleasurable  dream,  How- 
erson  in  his  nightmare. 

"  A  part  of  our  dream  to-day  was  red,  Sam,"  said  the 
Poet,  a  vision  of  the  old  man  rising  before  him. 

"  Desperate.  But  do  you  know  that  while  looking  on 
that  poor  old  fellow's  blood,  the  blood  of  your  friend, 
I  couldn't  help  thinking  of  what  you  were  going  to  con 
tribute  toward  my  welfare  ?  Blood  and  death  —  mur 
der,  yes;  but  you  were  going  to  help  me.  George,  we 
are  woefully  selfish  creatures." 

"  We  make  blood  our  agent,"  said  Howerson;  "an 
excuse  to  further  our  desires.  I  wanted  to  go  to  Whate- 
ley  's  house,  and  made  murder  my  excuse.  But  of  course 
you  can't  understand." 

"  Maybe  not.  But  you'll  let  me  be  selfish  and  dream 
for  a  moment  longer,  won't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  but  let  us  hasten  the  plot.  It  drags."  There 
was  a  smoky  silence,  broken  by  Sam. 

' '  When  shall  I  meet  you  to-morrow,  George,  about  the 
note,  you  know?  " 

"  Yes.  I  had  been  thinking  of  other  things,  but  I 
hadn't  forgotten  that.  See  your  people,  then  meet  me 
here  to-morrow  afternoon  at  one  o  'clock. ' ' 

When  Sam  was  gone,  the  Poet  sat  musing:  "  I'll  get 
a  pistol  and  prepare  to  defend  myself.  Those  devils  will 
see  my  name  in  print,  follow  me  to  the  inquest,  track  me 
here,  hack  out  my  blood  as  some  other  devil  hacked  out 
old  Banstree's." 

The  sight  of  the  murdered  man  arose  afresh,  more 
ghastly  visioned  now  in  the  twilight  of  a  room  which 
no  blaze  could  have  made  cheerful.  .  .  .  He  did  not 
sleep  well  that  night,  and  in  dozes  he  dreamed  a  dozen 


A  DOG  HOWLED  353 

times  that  he  snatched  down  the  broadsword  to  slash  off 
the  heads  of  his  enemies. 

He  went  early  to  Whateley's  office,  and  while  waiting 
for  old  Calvin,  cringed  and  coughed  over  those  wretched 
newspaper  interviews.  One  server  of  the  morbid  public 
called  him  "  George  Howerson,  the  Actor-Poet  "  and 
printed  one  of  his  poems.  Where  had  that  thing  been 
dug  up?  But  there  it  was  in  double  column,  together 
with  a  sketch  of  the  Poet  "  whose  peculiar  imagination 
induced  him  to  turn  promoter,  and  who  of  late  has 
engineered  some  of  Whateley's  biggest  deals."  Where 
had  the  scoundrel  got  that  information  ? 

He  heard  Whateley  coming,  not  through  the  ante 
room  guarded  by  Big  Jim,  but  through  the  adjoining 
apartments.  He  heard  him  following  his  blazed-trail 
of  ill  humor,  heard  bookkeepers  begging  his  pardon  for 
being  alive,  and  thought  that  he  caught  the  timid  accents 
of  Miss  Gwin's  fright.  Taking  hasty  stock  of  himself, 
he  found  that  he  was  not  so  brave  about  that  note  for 
ten  thousand. 

"  Ah,  good  morning,  Mr.  Howerson.  You  are  rather 
early. ' ' 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Whateley.  But  isn't  it  you,  sir, 
who  are  rather  late  ?  ' ! 

This  was  so  bold  that  Miss  Gwin,  who  had  appeared 
just  within  the  door,  shrank  back  to  avoid  the  storm; 
and  the  Poet,  whose  lines  descriptive  of  ' '  The  Maid  Who 
Danced  in  the  Barn  ' '  were  now  spread  on  the  old  man 's 
desk,  was  startled  at  his  own  want  of  tact,  so  much  so, 
in  truth,  that  he  was  groping  for  the  fitting  words  of 
apology  when  Whateley  snapped  his  watch. 

"  That  is  true,  sir.  I  am  at  least  twenty  minutes 
behind  my  usual  time."  He  sat  down.  "  Anything 
special,  Mr.  Howerson?  " 


354  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWEKSON 

"  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you  privately,"  said  How- 
erson  glancing  toward  Miss  Gwin,  who  had  entered  the 
room,  the  old  man  no  doubt  having  commanded  her  to 
follow  him.  Whateley  looked  at  her  and  she  disappeared. 

"  Proceed,  Mr.  Howerson." 

It  was  natural  that  he  should  speak  of  the  murder  and 
of  those  wretched  newspaper  yarns.  He  began  with  the 
murder,  and  the  old  man  tapped  on  his  desk.  "  Yes,  a 
very  sad  affair." 

"  And  those  interviews:  Mr.  Whateley,  I  assure  you, 
sir,  that  I  didn't  say  a  word  about  being  a  poet,  and 
for  no  inducement  would  I  have  taken  the  credit  of  —  " 

Tap,  tap,  on  the  desk.  ' '  Yes,  I  understand,  Mr.  How 
erson,"  and  with  a  harder  rap  and  a  wave  of  the  hand 
he  dismissed  the  murder  and  the  interviews  and  looked 
an  inquiry  as  to  what  might  be  the  question  of  real 
interest.  Howerson  hesitated. 

' '  You  wished  to  see  me  —  in  a  moment,  Miss  Gwin,  I 
shall  want  you  —  about  some  matter  in  particular  ?  ' ' 

Now  it  meant  go  forward  or  back  out.  He  plunged: 
"  Mr.  Whateley,  I  want  to  lend  a  man  ten  thousand 
dollars." 

"Ah!    What  collateral  ?  " 

"  The  collateral  of  friendship,"  he  answered.  Whate 
ley  winked  his  shrewd  old  eyes  and  coughed. 

"  Friendship?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  This  man  made  it  possible  for  me  to  suc 
ceed  at  Glenwich.  '  He  —  ' ' 

"  Oh,  a  service.  That's  a  different  thing.  It  is  well, 
Mr.  Howerson,  to  reward  your  friends.  I  admire  that 
trait  in  your  character.  Yes,  sir,"  and  now  he  struck 
the  desk  with  his  fist,  "  reward  your  friends  and  punish 
your  enemies.  It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  about  forgiving 
your  enemies;  it  sounds  well  in  hymns,  but  for  the  most 


A  DOG  HOWLED  355 

part,  whenever  you  really  forgive  an  enemy  you  make  a 
mistake.  He  possesses  the  same  unchangeable  nature, 
and  believes  that  your  forgiveness  is  due  more  to  his 
deserving  than  to  your  generosity.  You  shall  have  the 
money,  Mr.  Howerson." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER 

To  make  a  generous  promise  and  courageously  to  keep 
it,  put  the  Poet  into  pleasant  humor  with  himself.  It  is 
so  easy  for  a  man  to  say  that  he  has  done  his  best  to 
keep  his  word.  It  is  so  natural  to  overdraw  our  account 
of  courage !  Down  to  the  street  Howerson  went,  elated ; 
but  not  for  long,  for  dread  of  violent  death  soon  fell 
chill  upon  his  heart,  and  at  the  same  time  jealousy  like 
a  hungry  rat  was  nesting  in  his  vitals. 

Again  occurred  the  notion  that  he  must  better  fortify 
his  "  hillside  cave,"  and  he  bought  a  pistol,  another 
"  Bulldog  "  declared  the  lettering  stamped  in  steel. 
Concerning  the  murder  he  had  read  nothing  save  the 
interviews  and  his  own  poem.  Now  he  gathered  another 
set  of  newspapers,  returned  to  his  ' '  cave  ' '  and  sat  down 
to  wonder  over  the  keen  observation  of  those  swift  chron 
iclers  of  life  and  death. 

"  The  work  must  have  been  done  by  a  skillful  and 
obedient  hand,  with  the  sharpest  of  instruments,  doubt 
less  a  sword  ground  to  a  razor  edge,  the  blow  evidently 
struck  from  behind  while  the  victim  was  sitting,  the 
murderer  standing,  as  the  cut  ran  deeper  in  front, 
between  the  eyes."  One  reporter  found  the  slight  but 
sharp  heel  marks  of  a  woman's  shoes  in  the  sward,  close 
to  one  of  the  windows,  and  a  strong  magnifying  glass 
brought  out  the  fact  that  there  were  finger  marks  on  the 
window  ledge.  It  was  hardly  probable  that  the  owner 
of  the  sharp  heels  could  have  got  in  at  a  window  fastened 

356 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  357 

on  the  inside,  to  say  nothing  of  inflicting  a  cut  that  a 
surgeon  might  admire.  But  there  were  the  marks  for 
what  they  were  worth,  several  inches  of  speculative  print 
at  least;  and  there  on  the  floor  was  a  bit  of  brownish 
paper,  not  more  than  half  an  inch  square,  with  a  black 
spot  on  one  edge,  appearing  to  have  been  torn,  leaving 
not  enough  of  the  black  spot  to  give  a  clue  as  to  its 
purpose.  But  why,  at  the  scene  of  a  murder,  should  a 
spot  be  black  instead  of  red?  This  was  a  question  that 
wisdom  did  not  try  to  answer,  except  so  far  as  it  might 
be  the  sign  of  some  secret  brotherhood,  proclaiming  that 
the  murder  was  an  act  of  organized  vengeance. 

All  the  reports  agreed  that  it  was  one  of  the  most 
mysterious  murders  known  to  the  "  history  of  eccentric 
crime."  More  than  this,  it  was  international  in  char 
acter,  Col.  Banstree  being  known  in  all  the  lands  of 
civilization.  No  arrests  had  been  made,  all  as  yet  resting 
with  the  coroner. 

Then  it  flashed  back  to  Howerson  that  he  and  Joyce 
had  been  summoned  to  give  evidence  at  the  inquest,  to 
be  held  at  three  o  'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

Promptly  at  one  o'clock  there  came  a  rap  and  How 
erson  opened  the  door  with  his  left  hand,  his  right  ready 
to  unchain  the  "  Bulldog."  But  it  was  Joyce,  as  the 
Poet  expected,  and  in  he  came  with  a  face  as  long  as  a 
dachshund. 

"  "Why,  confound  it,  Sam,  what's  wrong?  " 

"  You  couldn't  get  the  money." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  couldn't?  " 

"  Because  I  heard  two  chaps  talking  at  a  lunch 
counter,  one  of  them  evidently  from  Whateley's  office; 
and  I  heard  him  say  that  he  had  never  seen  the  old  man 
in  worse  humor,  and  that  according  to  a  stenographer's 
story  he  had  turned  on  Mr.  Howerson  and  said,  '  I'll  let 


358  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

you  have  no  money,  sir,  on  the  collateral  of  friendship.' 
And  of  course  he  wouldn  't  give  it  to  you. ' ' 

Howerson  laughed.  "  Sit  down,  Sam.  I  happen  to 
have  the  check  here,  made  out  by  the  old  man  himself. ' ' 

Possibly  there  will  come  a  time  when  Joyce  may  be 
happier  than  he  was  at  that  moment.  He  sank  back 
into  a  chair,  after  trying  in  vain  to  master  the  quaver 
ill  his  voice. 

"  Let  me  get  myself  together,  as  it  were,"  he  ventured 
at  last.  "  I  tell  you,  my  dear  friend,  that  the  fear  of 
not  getting  this  piece  of  paper  made  a  shameful  coward 
of  me.  But  it  caught  me  where  I  am  weak,  my  love  for 
Laura  and  the  kids." 

' '  Caught  you  where  you  are  strong,  you  mean. ' ' 

"  No,  weak  I  tell  you.  When  I  went  home  I  didn't 
have  the  courage  to  say  a  word  about  the  loan.  It  didn  't 
seem  possible  that  I  could  make  my  wife  understand 
how  I  could  borrow  that  much  money.  It's  a  miracle!  " 

Howerson  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  halting 
at  brief  moments  to  look  with  kindly  countenance  upon 
his  friend,  and  then  from  the  window  to  gaze  out  into 
the  smoke  belched  by  tugboats  on  the  river.  "  Every 
thing  is  a  miracle,  Sam, ' '  he  said,  coming  away  from  the 
window,  and  seating  himself  on  a  corner  of  the  table. 
He  had  stolen  an  attitude,  and  kept  it  until  he  found 
that  the  pistol  in  his  pocket  was  hurting  him.  Then  he 
shifted,  drew  forth  the  "  dog  "  and  thumped  him  down 
upon  the  table. 

"  That  thing  is,  surely,"  said  Sam. 

"  Is  what?  " 

"  A  miracle.    You  say  everything  is." 

* '  Yes,  everything :  the  sunrise,  the  spark  of  fire,  the 
ocean,  the  drop  of  dew,  the  elephant,  the  cricket,  the 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  359 

penny,  the  ten  thousand.  But  let  us  have  done  with  it. 
There  can  be  no  true  companionship  where  one  feels 
under  debt  to  the  other.  Do  me  a  favor.  Forget  it.  By 
the  way,  do  they  search  a  fellow  when  he  goes  before  the 
coroner  ?  We  Ve  got  to  go  to  that  inquest,  you  know. ' ' 

"Search  him?    Why?" 

"  Because  I  was  thinking  of  permitting  the  bull  pup 
to  bear  me  secret  company. ' ' 

"  I  wouldn't  take  it  with  me.  What  possible  need 
could  you  have  for  it?  " 

"  None,  of  course.  Well,  we'd  better  be  sauntering 
on  toward  the  office  of  old  Death  and  his  secretary,  the 
coroner. ' ' 

At  the  inquest  nothing  was  brought  out  that  had  not 
been  set  forth  by  the  reporters.  The  field  for  observation 
was  small,  for  speculation,  large;  but  the  fitness  of  a 
coroner  is  not  supposed  to  lie  in  the  endowment  of 
imaginative  qualities. 

In  the  gloom  of  an  ill-lighted  street  corner  Howerson 
bade  his  friend  good  night  and  sought  the  gloomier 
precincts  of  his  own  — ' '  home  ' '  he  mused  and  smiled 
grimly  at  so  fantastic  a  twist  of  the  sacred  word.  He 
lighted  all  the  jets  of  the  chandelier,  but  into  corners 
and  out  again  black  shadows  scurried  like  noiseless  mice. 
The  evening  newspapers  heaped  mystery  upon  mystery. 
They  all  gave  Howerson 's  testimony,  and  one  of  them 
presented  to  the  public  a  pencil  sketch  of  him,  gracing 
him  with  the  bearing  and  the  countenance  of  a  pugilist 
stricken  with  grief ;  and  merciless  gods,  here  was  another 
one  of  his  poems,  ' '  Juno 's  Eyes. ' ' 

' '  Blast  the  eyes  of  the  grave-robber  that  dug  it  up, ' ' 
the  Poet  groaned. 

Suddenly  he  broke  off  his  musing  and  got  out  of  his 


360  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWEKSON 

chair  to  listen.  Surely  lie  had  heard  tiptoeing  feet  halt 
at  his  door.  He  took  the  pistol  out  of  the  table  drawer, 
shuddered  with  the  cold  touch  of  it,  and  stood  waiting. 
No  sound;  yes,  the  tiptoeing  again.  Slowly  he  opened 
the  door  and  peered  out.  A  newspaper  rising  and  falling 
in  the  draft,  was  borne  along  the  hall;  and  he  laughed 
like  the  boy  who  finds  that  it  was  not  a  ghost  but  a 
tablecloth  on  a  clothesline. 

Again  he  sat  down  to  read,  "  Bulldog  "  at  his  elbow, 
but  his  thoughts  kept  harking  back  to  the  newspapers, 
his  resurrected  verses.  How  those  inartistic  trills 
reproached  him.  His  "  Juno's  Eyes,"  indeed!  And 
thus  he  bewailed.  "  Now  what  the  deuce  do  I  know 
about  the  lamps  of  that  exalted  myth?  Better  to  write 
advertising  sonnets  to  '  Jane's  Hat.'  Better  to  write 
about  the  little  things  of  earth,  specks  that  escape  the 
notice  of  the  great.  After  Homer,  Dante  and  Milton  — 
the  gods,  heaven  and  hell  have  been  pretty  well  covered. 
Juno 's  sick  cat !  But  I  can  stare  truth  out  of  countenance 
and  hope  to  burn  if  I  wrote  it." 

When  he  went  to  bed  he  put  "  Bulldog  "  beneath  his 
pillow,  and  dozing  off  was  growled  awake.  Since  the 
first  day  when  he  entered  Whateley's  office  he  had 
shuddered  at  the  sight  of  a  pistol,  and  now  he  harbored 
one  in  the  only  place  he  could  call  his  home.  It  was  too 
chill  a  reminder  of  the  dark  night  of  his  soul ;  he  could 
not  sleep  with  it  in  the  room.  He  took  it  into  the  other 
room  and  put  it  into  the  table  drawer,  but  this  brought 
no  relief.  He  dozed  again,  to  reawaken  with  a  start ;  to 
his  morbid  senses  and  straining  eyes  the  pistol  was  still 
before  him.  Like  Macbeth 's  dagger,  it  made  mock  of  his 
senses.  He  wondered  if  from  the  window  he  could 
throw  it  over  the  projecting  corner  of  a  warehouse  into 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  361 

the  river.  He  would  try;  and  he  threw  it  as  far  as 
he  could,  and  heard  no  splash,  but  he  heard  a  tug's 
hoarse  whistle  and  felt  the  damp  breath  of  the  river. 
Now  that  the  second  "  Bulldog  "  had  joined  its  mate, 
he  felt  that  he  could  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXVil. 
WANTED  HIS  POEMS 

The  following  few  days  brought  with  them  no  develop 
ment  to  simplify  the  "  International  murder."  In  the 
newspapers  there  were  many  pictures  and  columns  of 
shrewd  writing,  painting  darker  the  mystery;  hut 
interest  began  to  lag.  This  old  fellow  was  not  a 
millionaire. 

At  the  office  Howerson  received  a  note  from  Rose. 
"  I  thank  you  for  thinking  to  bring  to  me  the  distress 
ful  news.  But  really  I  am  not  sorry  I  was  absent.  Let 
our  friends  bring  nothing  but  good  news.  Our  enemies 
will  see  to  it  that  we  get  the  bad.  But  I  know  that  in 
your  excitement  you  didn't  think  about  it  in  this  way, 
and  I  am  grateful  that  you  thought  of  me." 

Why  did  that  one  word  "  friends  "  seem  to  stand  out 
in  such  boldness  ?  Yes,  it  was  plain  enough  that  he  must 
regard  himself  as  only  a  friend.  .  .  .  And  no  wish 
that  soon  she  might  see  him !  Herein  lay  cause  enough 
for  brooding  as  he  sat  in  the  office  when  loneliness  and 
dread  drove  him  forth  from  the  silence  and  the  throb  of 
his  own  abode.  Often  he  would  study  the  play  of  feel 
ing,  of  anger,  of  ripening  revenge  in  Whateley's  coun 
tenance,  wondering  sometimes  if  this  man  could  ever 
again  boy  his  heart  and  play  beside  blazing  wood  in 
the  Cabin.  But  not  always  was  he  silent  and  grim; 
sometimes  for  brief  periods  he  would  light  a  cigar,  lean 
back  in  his  chair  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  talk  about  busi 
ness  and  the  political  phases  of  the  day. 

362 


WANTED  HIS  POEMS  363 

"  Ah,  our  new  Canadian  company  is  complete,  Mr. 
Howerson.  Each  man  who  has  visited  the  Falls  has 
come  back  filled  with  wonder  that  the  site  escaped  gob 
bling  up  so  long.  Soon  we'll  begin  active  and  productive 
operations  —  worth  a  great  deal  of  money,  I  don 't  need 
to  assure  you.  Twenty  thousand  dollars  worth  of  stock, 
or  shares,  as  our  Canadian  friends  term  it,  has  been  made 
over  to  you.  You  said  that  in  this  matter  you  were 
determined  to  make  Calvin  your  —  ha  —  beneficiary, 
but  I  command,  sir,  that  this  shall  not  be  done.  Not  a 
word  of  protest.  I  will  not  entertain  it. ' ' 

And  Howerson  sat  there  musing,  "  Why  the  devil 
doesn  't  he  invite  me  to  dinner  ?  ' : 

' '  There  is  something  that  I  wish  you  to  do  while  you 
are  not  otherwise  actively  engaged,"  Whateley  continued. 
"  Not  long  ago  one  of  our  street  cars  killed  an  old  man 
named  Marsh,  stepfather  to  Miss  Gwin  in  there,"  he 
nodded,  indicating  the  adjoining  room.  "  The  court 
passed  upon  the  affair,  but  I  want  you  —  no  hurry,  mind 
you  —  to  investigate  it  quietly.  The  judge  who  tried 
the  case  is  a  political  scoundrel.  He  hates  me,  and  —  ha 
—  and  as  soon  as  possible  I  '11  give  him  cause  to  increase 
the  volume  of  his  bitterness.  When  he  comes  up  for 
reelection  he'll  find  a  lively  compaign." 

"  I  shall  go  about  it  at  once,  Mr.  Whateley." 

"  No  hurry;  do  it  very  quietly." 

"  Er  — how  is  little  Calvin,  Mr.  Whateley?  " 

"  Ha,  you  ought  to  have  heard  him  at  dinner  last 
night." 

The  Poet  mused,  "  I  wish  I  had." 

' '  Kept  us  in  a  roar.  Why,  he 's  the  best  during-dinner 
talker  I  ever  saw.  He  declared  that  his  father  was  going 
to  find  out  who  murdered  old  —  er  —  old  What's-his- 
name,  and,  sir,  he  proved  it  to  me.  I  know  very  well 


364  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

that  if  there  is  a  man  in  this  town  who  can't  unravel 
that  —  ha  —  sock  of  mystery,  it  is  my  son  Dan.  But 
when  little  Calvin  said  he  could  I  agreed,  and,  sir,  do 
you  know,  the  shrewd  little  rascal  turned  on  me  and 
wanted  to  know  why  I  thought  so?  He  did;  and  my 
daughter  laughed  at  me. ' ' 

"  I  should  have  liked  that  little  comedy." 

"  No  doubt,  Mr.  Howerson,  no  doubt.  And  I  must 
confess  that  I  was  somewhat  stumped. ' ' 

"  I  might  have  helped  you  out  by  saying  that  you 
knew  it  because  Calvin  said  so." 

"  Ah,  very  true,  perfectly  true.  I  wish  you  had  been 
there." 

The  Poet's  heart  beat,  "  the  deuce  you  do !  "  The  old 
man  leaned  forward  to  his  work,  spreading  out  upon  his 
pad  figures  now  green  but  which  the  future  would  ripen. 

That  afternoon  there  came  to  Howerson  something 
that  mocked  his  present  and  fool-capped  his  past.  A 
magazine,  having  seen  his  poems  printed  in  the  news 
papers,  wrote  to  ask  whether  he  would  not  contribute  to 
its  pages ;  and  a  representative  of  a  monthly  exploitation 
of  household  economies,  a  frilled  thing  that  bore  no  more 
kinship  to  letters  than  a  shimmering  nightdress  bears 
to  the  garb  of  an  Arctic  explorer,  called  to  solicit  from 
him  a  soft  and  gentle  story.  The  representative  was 
answered  by  the  old  man,  before  the  Poet  could  speak. 
"  Mr.  Howerson  is  a  business  man,  sir,  a  thousand 
degrees  removed  from  your  paper. ' ' 

"  Magazine,"  the  representative  corrected  him,  bow 
ing,  and  with  a  smile  as  mildly  reproving  as  the  pale 
illumination  of  a  maiden  lady  rather  than  of  a  man  six 
feet  high. 

' '  Same  thing, ' '  said  Whateley,  ' '  not  worth  a  moment 
of  a  busy  man's  time.  .  .  .  How  is  it,  sir,  that  you 


WANTED  HIS  POEMS  365 

expect  to  put  woman  on  the  same  intellectual  plane  with 
man,  and  continue  to  print  special  things  for  her  as  if 
she  were  a  child?  We  wish  you  good  day,  sir." 

Howerson  realized  that  this  was  unjust,  and  was  bold 
enough  to  bear  the  visitor  company  as  far  as  the 
elevator. 

When  the  elevator  had  come  up,  out  stepped  Sam 
Joyce.  He  had  come  to  foreclose  a  mortgage  on  Hower 
son  's  evening;  and  grappled  upon,  the  poet  was  hauled 
a  long  distance,  in  the  jostling  home-hurry  of  dusk,  out 
from  the  alternating  blaze  and  darkness  of  electric 
signs,  through  a  park  where  lights  twinkled  like  stars 
hanging  low ;  up  two  nights  of  stairs ;  and  now  he  was  in 
Sam's  home,  shaking  hands  with  a  slight  woman  whose 
good  humor  shone  through  her  household  fluster.  Here 
came  forward  a  boy,  not  a  spiritual  master  like  little 
Calvin,  but  a  master  of  ruggedness,  with  a  fist  as  hard 
as  a  nut.  Hanging  back  was  his  sister,  younger,  just 
old  enough  to  catch  the  tail-ends  of  her  brother 's  boister 
ous  observations  and  lispingly  to  repeat  them.  The  boy 
sat  on  Howerson 's  knee,  looked  up  into  his  eyes  and  said : 

"  Boy  tries  to  run  over  me  I  fight." 

"  Fight,"  the  girl  lisped,  peeping  around  the  corner 
of  a  sofa. 

"  Must  I?  "  the  boy  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  Howerson  answered. 

"  Ho,  I'd  like  to  go  to  your  Sunday  school,"  the 
youngster  cried  out. 

"  Day  school,"  lisped  his  sister. 

"  Mamma,  Mr.  Howerson 's  got  brown  eyes,  ain't  he?  " 
the  boy  shouted  in  sudden  and  sensational  discovery. 

11  Why,  I  don't  know,  Robert." 

"  Bet  you  do,"  came  another  shout. 

She  laughed  becomingly,  but  Sam  roared  his  way  out 


366  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

to  the  telephone,  whither  he  had  just  been  called.  The 
boy  jumped  down  and  ran  out  with  him.  The  little  girl 
came  out  from  her  peeping-place  and  found  safe  refuge 
on  her  mother's  lap.  The  woman  glanced  toward  the 
door  leading  to  an  adjoining  room  where  Sam  was  talking 
over  the  wire.  ' '  You  don 't  know  how  patient  he  is  with 
me  when  I  'm  worried  with  the  children, ' '  she  said.  ' '  I 
know  I'm  fretful  at  times.  There  are  so  many  things  to 
worry  women,  more  than  men  have  any  idea  of,  I  some 
times  think.  Women  that  have  no  children  to  muss 
things  up,  come  with  their  fine  clothes  and  —  put  it 
over  me,  Sam  says.  He  gets  a  good  salary,  but  somehow 
I  can't  feel  free  to  buy  much  of  anything  for  myself. 
One  of  my  friends  charged  me  with  being  old-fashioned, 
and  I  said,  '  Yes,  I  am  in  love  with  my  husband.'  Sam 
is  nearly  always  so  full  of  hope,  and  when  I'm  tired  he 
always  makes  it  a  point  to  be  rested.  Then  that  rests 
me." 

"  I  trust,"  said  Howerson,  "  that  some  day  I  may 
marry  such  a  woman  as  Sam's  wife." 

She  laughed,  like  the  ringing  of  a  silver  bell,  and  then 
came  a  tinkle,  the  little  girl,  in  echo. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Howerson."  She  blushed,  the 
softened  color  of  a  rose  when  evening  has  subdued  the 
glare  of  day.  "  Thank  you.  Tell  Sam  that.  It  will  please 
him.  He  says  I  make  his  atmosphere.  God  bless  him, 
he  makes  mine." 

' '  He  helped  make  mine  at  Glenwich. ' ' 

"  We  can  never  thank  you  enough,  dear  friend.  You 
have  given  us  the  chance  to  be  somebody.  I  can  hardly 
realize  that  Sam  is  a  member  of  the  firm.  It  is  a  great 
victory.  The  people  in  the  flat  just  across  from  us  are 
horribly  stuck  up,  the  woman  especially.  Her  husband 


WANTED  HIS  POEMS  367 

cans  peas;  and  she  told  my  children  they  mustn't  play 
up  and  down  the  hall.  The  idea!  But  it  is  a  big  firm 
her  husband  is  in  with  and  I  didn't  say  anything.  But 
now  I'll  say  something,  and  I  won't  get  out  of  the  way 
when  she  sweeps  in  front  of  her  door.  She  doesn  't  sweep 
inside  at  all,  her  maid  does  that ;  but  she  makes  it  a  point 
to  grab  up  a  broom  and  run  out  to  sweep  just  as  I  come 
along  the  hall,  to  show  her  maid  —  how  I  hate  that  word 
—  that  she  would  sweep  me  down  the  stairs  if  I  didn  't 
get  out  of  the  way. ' ' 

Sam  came  back  and  she  said  to  him:  "  We've  been 
talking  about  you.  Sit  down,  please,  and  entertain  our 
dearest  friend  while  I  see  about  dinner.  Sam  wouldn't 
tell  me  what  you  like  to  eat,  Mr.  Howerson,  so  I  had  to 
guess  at  it." 

"  You  bet  she  knows  what's  good  to  eat,  George.  I 
tell  her  there's  no  restaurant  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
that  can  serve  such  meals  as  she  does,  and  she  thinks 
I'm  guying  her." 

"  My  papa  saw  a  man  with  his  head  split  open,"  the 
boy  shouted,  and  his  mother  turned  about  from  her 
journey  toward  the  dining  room : 

"  Robert,  if  you  make  another  remark  like  that  I'll 
strip  you  and  put  you  to  bed,  and  you  know  I'll  do  it." 

When  she  had  gone  out,  the  boy  said,  "  I  know  you 
won 't !  "  Had  Howerson  been  called  on  to  speculate  as 
to  which  of  them  had  spoken  the  truth  he  would  not  have 
needed  a  suggestion  from  Sam. 

No  one  in  the  Poet's  state  of  mind  could  have  spent 
a  happy  evening,  but  Howerson 's  friends  thought  that 
he  enjoyed  himself.  So  he  would  have,  here  in  this 
soft  retreat,  but  for  the  nesting  rat  in  his  heart.  When 
he  bade  them  good  night,  lingering  in  the  hall  for  one 


368  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

more  glimpse  into  a  household  that  he  had  made  so 
happy,  he  went  forth,  walking  slowly  and  in  heavy  medi 
tation  through  the  park,  toward  the  car  line. 

To  reach  his  home  he  had  to  pass  the  Criminal  Court 
building;  and  there  in  the  entrance  way  stood  Dan 
Whateley  talking  to  someone  obscured  in  shadow. 
"Whateley  did  not  see  Howerson,  and  for  a  time  the 
Poet  loitered  along  as  if  he  half  expected  Dan  to  rush 
forth,  seize  him  by  the  hand  and  say,  "  Oh,  come  home 
with  me."  But  Dan  did  not  rush,  and  the  Poet  moped  on 
to  his  desolate  "  cave,"  wherein  he  sat  down  to  a 
midnight  snack  of  morbid  fancies. 

But  what  was  Dan  Whateley  doing  there  at  that  hour 
of  the  night  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
"  NIGGER  HERE  TOO  !  " 

With  Dan  Whateley  it  had  been  a  busy  evening  and  a 
night  not  free  from  activity.  About  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  he  was  sitting  in  his  office  when  a  bailiff 
entered  and  announced  that  a  young  mulatto  woman 
wanted  to  see  him  on  most  important  business.  She  was 
admitted,  and  when  she  came  in  she  looked  around,  at 
a  clerk  writing  and  at  the  bailiff,  standing  just  within 
the  door. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  by  yourself,"  she  said  to 
Whateley,  coming  up  close  to  him. 

Dan  looked  at  her.     "  What  is  it  you  wish  to  say?  " 

' '  I  don 't  want  to  say  it  to  anybody  but  you.  Tell  'em 
to  go  out."  Then,  leaning  toward  him  she  whispered: 
' '  I  saw  old  Banstree  murdered. ' ' 

Dan  wheeled  about  and  motioned  to  the  two  men  to 
get  out,  and  when  the  room  was  cleared  he  said,  "  Sit 
down  there." 

She  obeyed,  making  a  motion  as  if  to  put  back  her 
kinkish  hair. 

"  What's  your  name?  " 

"  Mrs.  Chi  Moy.  My  husband  is  a  Chinaman,  and  I 
come  to  you  instead  of  going  to  the  police  because  I  feel 
that  I  am  better  acquainted  with  you.  I  am  your  wife's 
special  laundress." 

"  And  you  say  you  saw  the  murder." 

"  Yes  I  did.    My  husband  Chi  Moy  killed  him." 

"  Go  ahead." 

369 


370  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  I  saw  him,  I  did.  I  married  him  and  I  was  a  good 
wife  to  him,  but  now  I  hope  they  '11  hang  him ;  he 's  done 
neglected  me  for  another  woman  and  me  a  good  wife  to 
him.  When  I  done  called  him  for  it  he  called  me 
nigger  and —  " 

"  But  tell  me  what  you  saw.    Quick." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  any  quicker 'n  I  can  talk,  can  I? 
Called  me  '  nigger  '  and  I  said  '  I'm  going  to  watch  you, 
I  am, '  and  I  followed  him  to  the  laundry  where  he  works, 
and  then  I  followed  him  when  he  took  old  Col.  Banstree  's 
washing  home.  I  thought  his  woman  lived  in  there,  for 
it  was  the  only  place  where  he  delivered  any ;  and  I  went . 
over  into  the  lot  and  peeped  in  along  the  windows,  and 
at  last  I  come  to  the  room  where  he  was  and  saw  the  old 
man  come  in  and  sit  down,  and  Moy  moved  around 
counting  out  the  shirts  and  collars,  and  he  put  them  into 
a  drawer,  and  got  behind  the  old  man,  and  then  I  saw 
him  take  a  sword  out  of  his  clothesbasket ;  and  all  this 
time  I  was  standing  out  by  the  window,  with  my  hands 
on  the  sill;  and  that  scrap  of  paper  with  a  black  mark 
on  it  that  they  made  such  a  fuss  over  was  only  a  piece 
of  a  wash  list;  and  since  then  I  found  out  the  woman 
wasn  't  in  that  building  but  across  the  street  and  —  ' ' 

"  Go  on  with  your  story.    Hurry  up." 

"  Goodness  alive,  ain't  I  hurryin'  as  fast  as  I  can? 
And  I  want  you  to  arrest  Moy  and  that  woman,  too,  for 
if  you  don 't  do  something  to  her  I  will. ' ' 

' '  You  say  he  took  the  sword  out  of  the  basket.  Then 
he  must  have  brought  it  with  him." 

"  Yes,  a  funny  old  sword  that  used  to  belong  to  his 
father,  as  sharp  as  a  razor." 

"  Where  is  Chi  Moy  now?  " 

"  Over  at  the  laundry  where  he  works.  Here  is  the 
number,"  and  she  gave  him  a  piece  of  paper.  He  looked 


"  NIGGER  HERE  TOO  !  "  371 

at  it  for  a  moment  and  then  arose.  "  You  stay  right 
here,"  he  said,  and  went  out  and  was  gone  nearly  half 
an  hour.  "When  he  returned  he  said  to  her :  ' '  A  warrant 
has  gone  to  bring  Chi  Moy."  She  arose.  "  Sit  down," 
he  commanded. 

"  But  what  for  you  want  with  me  here  any  more?  I 
don't  want  to  stay  here,  less  you  bring  that  woman. 
Will  you  bring  her  ?  ' : 

"  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  her.  Sit  down,  I  tell 
you." 

"  I've  done  what  I  come  to  do  and  I'm  not  going  to 
stay.  I  haven 't  done  no  crime  and  you  can 't  hold  me. ' ' 

"  Sit  down  or  you  go  to  jail." 

She  sat  down.  "  That's  a  funny  way  to  do  business. 
What  you  going  to  do  with  me  ?  Do  me  this  way  and  I  '11 
take  back  all  I  said." 

They  waited  a  long  time,  the  woman  restless  and 
talkative,  the  lawyer  silent,  listening,  going  sometimes 
to  the  door,  looking  out  into  the  corridor.  The  woman 
became  indifferent,  hummed  an  old  time  tune  rem 
iniscent  of  Kentucky.  Night  fell,  the  lights  were  turned 
on  and  still  they  waited. 

"  Maybe  he's  in  some  opium  joint  and  they  are  hunt 
ing  for  him,"  she  said.  "  Well,  I  don't  care.  What  I 
said  is  true,  anyhow.  Look  here,  it's  gettin'  late  and  I'm 
hungry." 

He  ordered  supper  for  her,  and  with  great  relish  she 
ate  it,  and  then  was  seized  with  remorse.  "  I  did  love 
that  man  even  if  he  is  a  Chinaman.  Mr.  Whateley,  I 
want  to  go  home  and  let  all  this  thing  drop.  I'm  sorry 
I  come.  Oh,  I  wish  I  hadn't.  And  if  they  hang  him  — 
they  're  coming  ?  ' ' 

She  sprang  up  from  the  chair.  Dan  motioned  her 
back  from  the  door,  stood  waiting,  and  then  sat  down. 


372  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWEESON 

The  alarm  was  a  late  jury  tramping  toward  the  court 
room.  The  woman  began  to  whimper.  "  It  ain't  true, 
Mr.  Whateley.  Every  word  of  it  is  a  lie;  and  I'd  tell 
you  that  with  my  last  breath.  I'll  get  up  in  court  and 
swear  it  ain't  true.  The  law  won't  believe  what  a  jealous 
woman  says  nohow.  You  let  me  go  home.  Man,  I've 
got  my  work  to  do.  You're  interferin'  with  me  right 
now. ' ' 

Footsteps,  and  this  time  not  a  false  alarm.  In  came 
two  plain-clothes  men  bringing  with  them  Chi  Moy.  The 
woman  threw  herself  upon  him;  they  pulled  her  away. 
She  caught  back  at  him  and  seized  his  sleeve.  He  looked 
at  her  and  laughed.  ' '  Nigger  here,  too !  ' '  For  a  second 
she  stood  glowering  upon  him,  anger  in  bronze  she 
looked;  then  she  collapsed  upon  the  floor,  the  rubbish  of 
remorse.  They  gathered  her  up,  placed  her  on  a  chair, 
fanned  her  with  a  newspaper.  Moy  grinned  at  her, 
yellow  venom  in  his  eyes.  She  came  to,  and  shrieking 
that  it  was  all  a  lie,  demanded  his  release.  Laughing  at 
her  he  said,  "  Liar.  I  killed  him.  He-he." 

She  dropped  upon  her  knees  and  wept  with  her  head 
and  arms  on  the  chair,  and  Moy,  after  smiling  down 
upon  her  as  if  in  great  amusement,  turned  to  the 
astonished  men.  "  I  more  American  man  as  you,  you, 
you !  You  born  on  'Merican  soil,  I  in  Frisco,  down  deep. 
Come  up  out  of  'Merican  soil.  See?  " 

They  told  him  to  wait,  that  they  wished  to  take  his 
confession,  and  he  sat  down  and  waited  while  a  messen 
ger  scurried  forth  to  find  some  belated  stenographer. 
They  found  one  and  he  came  in  swiftly,  the  leaves  of  his 
pad  fluttering. 

"  Now  you  will  please  go  ahead?  "  said  Whateley. 
"  Repeat  how  and  where  you  were  born." 


"  NIGGER  HERE  TOO  !  "  373 

He  did  so.  The  woman  looked  up  at  him,  red-eyed, 
and  then  her  head  sank  again  on  her  arms. 

"  I  go  to  school  in  Frisco,  learn  much  but  not  to  sing 
school  song.  Damn  foolishness;  but  I  read  and  write 
and  make  many  figures.  Long  time  I  come  here,  bime-by 
in  restaurant  where  I  work.  Long  time  marry  this 
woman.  Bad  business,  hell  life.  But  I  laugh,  he-he! 
Hope  she  die.  She  won't." 

She  looked  up  at  him.  "  Oh,  Moy,  Moy,  don't  talk 
that  way." 

"  You  hush,"  he  commanded.  She  sobbed  and  her 
head  sank  again.  He  withdrew  his  eyes  from  her,  dis 
missed  her  with  a  shrug,  his  head  lying  over  toward  one 
shoulder  like  a  man  hanging.  The  stenographer's  pencil 
waited.  "Whateley  gestured.  Chi  Moy  began  again: 
"  To  the  restaurant  come  old  man,  come  much  and  I 
wait  on  him  long  time,  no  trouble,  but  sometime  he  get 
mad,  sometime  cuss  me.  I  laugh,  he-he!  One  night 
very  bad,  nothing  suit,  cuss.  Order  more  tea.  I  bring 
it,  pour  out  cup.  He  taste  and  throw  cup  in  my  face. 
Down  go  cup  and  break  on  floor,  and  'prietor  Yang  Gee 
run  up.  Old  sword  man  lie,  say  I  insult  him  with  cold 
tea.  Heap  good  customer  and  I  beg  pardon.  Yang  Gee 
frown  at  me  and  tell  me  look  sharp  or  I  discharge. 
People  all  laugh.  Good  joke.  I  laugh  too.  Old  man 
call  me  yellow  dog.  Yes,  and  I  growl  as  I  go  home. 
The  hell  comes  up  in  me.  I  can't  sleep.  Me  born  under 
'Merican  soil.  I  think  long  time  till  day.  Then  I  go 
back  to  Yang  Gee  and  tell  him  I  work  no  more  for  him. 
He  say  '  get  out.'  I  go.  I  have  plan.  I  find  out  where 
old  man  has  wash.  I  go  there  —  work  cheap.  Carry  his 
wash  home.  All  good  now.  I  say  to  my  father  —  ' ' 

"  Is  your  father  living?  "  Whateley  inquired. 

"  No.     But  I  say  to  my  father,  '  I  'venge  the  insult 


374  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

of  your  son  and  then  I  come  to  you. '  I  have  his  sword, 
thousand  year  old,  keen  more  than  shave  with.  My 
father,  his  father  —  all  jugglers.  He  throw  up  cherry 
and  the  sword  cut  it  in  two,  seed,  all.  I  carry  home  his 
wash.  I  don't  say  washee.  I  carry  it  home,  two,  five 
times.  He  don't  know  me.  All  Chinaman  alike  to  him. 
All  this  time  I  in  love  —  ' ' 

The  woman  looked  up. 

"  With  my  Venge.  I  call  it  sweetheart.  I  wake  up 
talking  to  it." 

"  Look  out,"  cried  an  officer. 

The  woman  had  fallen  over  on  the  floor.  Moy  did  not 
look  at  her.  They  raised  her,  fanned  her,  sprinkled  her 
face.  They  put  bundled  coats  beneath  her  head  and 
let  her  lie  there.  Someone  spoke  of  a  doctor,  and  with 
a  moan  she  shook  her  head. 

"  Proceed,  Moy,"  Whateley  commanded. 

' '  Wake  up  talking.  Then  I  get  clothes  and  put  sword 
in  basket.  The  sun  shines;  I  laugh.  I  go.  Nobody  in 
hall.  Push  open  door.  Nobody  in  room.  Bime-by  he 
come.  He  growl  at  me.  I  laugh.  I  put  shirts  in  drawer. 
He  sit  down.  Think.  I  think  too.  All  the  shirts  in 
drawer,  drawer  shut.  I  stand  behind  him.  Sword  shine 
in  basket.  Swords  on  wall  dull,  not  bright.  I  look  on  his 
head;  it  shine  too,  blue  vein  on  top.  Hi,  I  cut  cherries, 
too;  I  practice  much.  I  measure.  Little  red  bump  in 
center  of  head.  H-a-h!  I  split  it.  Out  come  sword. 
Quick,  go  in  basket,  so  quick  no  blood.  Old  man  bleed 
slow.  He  shudder,  then  still.  I  go  out.  Nobody  in  hall. 
I  laugh." 

His  eyelids  were  growing  heavy.  With  dreamy  hate 
he  looked  upon  the  woman.  "  Nigger!  "  he  said. 

She  scrambled  to  her  feet.  ' '  Let  me  go !  "  she  cried. 
Whateley  opened  the  door  and  she  ran  out  of  the  room. 


"  NIGGER  HERE  TOO  !  "  375 

They  led  Moy  away,  down  to  the  jail.  Whateley  went 
with  the  prisoner,  his  own  yellow  leap  into  public  notice 
the  fulfillment  of  little  Calvin's  prediction.  When  the 
Chinaman  had  been  locked  up,  Dan  remembered  that  he 
had  left  an  important  paper  lying  on  the  table  in  his 
office.  He  returned  to  get  it,  and  just  as  he  reached  the 
entrance  from  the  street,  a  man  halted  and  began  to 
question  him,  about  nothing  of  consequence,  it  seemed, 
but  Dan  in  good  humor  with  the  world,  his  eye  moist 
with  gazing  at  his  own  rising  star,  halted  for  a  moment 
to  talk  to  him.  Another  man  was  approaching,  Hower- 
son,  walking  slowly.  He  passed,  and  the  questioner 
stepped  out  from  the  shadow  and  followed  him.  When 
Howerson  loitered,  the  figure,  seeking  the  shadows,  moved 
with  more  caution.  It  was  Hudsic. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
A  STRAGGLING  VISIT 

The  first  sleepy  blinker  at  the  morning 's  news  saw  Dan 
Whateley's  name.  The  Chinaman's  confession,  good 
breakfast  food;  but  who  had  done  it  up  into  packages, 
shipped  it  ?  "  Surely, ' '  said  the  honest  voter,  ever  look 
ing  for  reform  and  ever  voting  as  he  was  told,  "  surely 
such  ability  ought  to  be  rewarded  with  the  states 
attorney's  office,  and  then  the  governor's  chair.  Young 
"Whateley  is  one  of  the  people.  Hurrah  for  him!  " 

Old  Whateley  chuckled  and  at  breakfast  he  said  to 
Eose,  "  Yes,  your  brother  is  now  a  great  man.  Little 
Calvin—" 

"  But  give  Dan  his  due,  father.  He  has  more  ability 
than  you  credit  him  with." 

"  Ability,  yes,  I  acknowledge  it.  Didn't  the  woman 
go  to  him?  Didn't  the  Chinaman  confess  to  him?  I 
assure  you  I  'm  delighted. ' ' 

' '  But  you  would  rather  he  had  —  ' ' 

"  Put  through  one  of  Howerson's  schemes?  Yes,  I 
confess  it.  Yes,  it  would  mean  more,  and  sometimes 
when  Howerson  is  in  the  office  I  feel  myself  almost  angry 
with  him  on  my  son's  account." 

"  That  isn't  just  to  Mr.  Howerson." 

"  I  know  it;  and  hardly  anything  is  just  to  anybody 
when  our  dearer  interests  are  concerned.  Of  course  I 
am  glad  Dan  is  to  come  up,  and  really  that  is  what  this 
thing  means,"  and  he  nodded  down  at  the  newspaper. 
"  Success  in  life  turns  on  a  mighty  little  pivot,  I  tell 

376 


A  STRAGGLING  VISIT  377 

you. ' '  Then,  after  reflection :  ' '  Through  life  there  runs 
a  crooked  hair-line:  on  one  side,  achievement;  on  the 
other,  failure." 

"  That  sounds  like  Mr.  Howerson,"  she  laughed. 

"  Yes,  that's  a  fact,"  he  admitted.  "  I  am  not 
inclined  to  imitate,  but  once  in  a  while  I  catch  myself 
putting  things  in  his  manner.  To  me  he  is  a  peculiar 
sort  of  a  book,  and  occasionally  some  of  his  lines  come  up 
in  my  mind.  I  never  met  a  man  before  who  affected  me 
in  that  way.  And  I  have  seen  all  along  that  he  is  not 
trying  to  stamp  himself  upon  me.  He  never  talks  about 
himself.  He  doesn  't  seem  to  care  for  money ;  his  pleas 
ure  comes  from  achievement,  and  that's  all  that  really 
counts  for  anything.  Civilization  is  always  busy  with 
the  solving  —  ha  —  of  problems,  but  no  solution  amounts 
to  anything  unless  it  builds  up  something  else  to  be 
solved.  I  believe  that  Howerson  will  make  his  mark. 
His  earlier  experiments  with  himself  have  left  kinks  in 
his  character  which  time,  I  believe,  will  straighten  out. ' ' 

' '  Kinks  ?  ' '  she  repeated,  looking  up  at  him. 

"  Yes,  his  dabbling  in  little  puddles,  his  trying  to 
write  poetry,  let  me  say. ' ' 

Smiling,  she  took  a  sort  of  half  musing  issue  with 
him.  "  But  didn't  his  dabbling  teach  him  to  swim  in  a 
heavier  sea?  I  think  I  heard  you  say  that  what  he  has 
done  was  due  to  his  imagination." 

"  Ha,  yes;  but  not  to  ditties.  Not  to  the  maids  that 
danced  in  the  stable  loft."  He  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  But  I  must  trot  along.  When  Fame  knocks  at  Dan's 
door  and  routs  him  out  of  bed,  give  him  my  congratula 
tions.  Ha,  ha."  Joining  in  his  merriment  she  laughed 
with  him  to  the  front  door,  kissed  him,  beseeching  him 
not  to  work  too  hard. 

To  the  Poet  the  night  had  not  been  kind.    Again  he 


378  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

heard  tiptoeing  in  front  of  his  door.  He  had  listened 
a  long,  heart-beating  time,  and  when  at  last  he  opened 
the  door  to  peer  out,  he  saw  nothing,  saw  no  explaining 
paper  blown  down  the  hall.  The  air  was  warm  and  he 
had  raised  his  window,  but  the  wind  moaned  among  the 
hulks  on  the  river,  rising  at  times  to  the  keenness  of  a 
woman 's  cry,  a  Zondish  cry,  and  he  closed  it ;  but  now  at 
the  casement  the  wind  labored,  talking  in  hollow  tones, 
like  Hudsic.  With  bits  of  paper  he  plugged  the  sash  to 
keep  it  from  rattling,  and  went  to  bed ;  and  when  after 
many  a  breath-holding  listen  he  dozed,  he  dreamed  that 
he  saw  himself  lying  there,  and  yet  another  self  sitting 
there,  ready  on  the  first  alarm  to  seize  the  sleeping  self 
and  to  shake  him  awake.  The  morning  came  with  a 
mottle  of  clouds  and  a  wind  blowing  thunder  out  of  the 
warming  west. 

Now,  in  the  quieting  daylight,  having  sneaked  his 
breakfast  at  a  restaurant  so  famished  of  customers  as 
to  threaten  the  proprietor  with  disaster,  Howerson  was 
sitting  in  his  room  staring  at  the  scare-headed  account 
of  the  latest  turn  of  the  Banstree  case.  Ah,  that  was 
what  Dan  Whateley  had  been  doing  so  late  at  night, 
hanging  about  the  tenement  of  justice,  talking  to  some 
one  obscured  in  shadow. 

He  read  the  confession,  the  "  skill  "  with  which  it 
had  been  obtained  —  and  then  the  paper  grew  black 
before  him  and  the  blood  sang  in  his  ears  —  lines  stand 
ing  out  from  the  rest,  halfway  down  the  page:  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  Moy  did  the  killing;  but  his  con 
fession  is  too  simple,  say  some.  "  I  am  an  agent  of  jus 
tice,"  Moy  declares  repeatedly;  and  the  police  think  he 
is  merely  the  tool  of  some  sinister  organization. 

"  Agent  of  justice!  "  There  was  a  pencil  sketch  of 
the  prisoner,  a  villainous  caricature,  but  crude  as  the 


A  STRAGGLING  VISIT  37y 

drawing  was,  it  carried  likeness  to  Howerson 's  eye. 
Chi  Moy  —  and  with  a  shudder  there  leaped  into  How- 
erson  's  mind  a  picture  of  Hudsic,  his  hand  upon  a  China 
man 's  shoulder. 

Howerson  was  keyed  to  high  tension  that  broke  in  a 
wild  leap  as  the  telephone  bell  rang.  It  was  only  the 
old  man,  calling  him  to  the  office. 

Whateley  greeted  him  cordially.  "  Ah,  good  morning, 
Mr.  Howerson.  Sit  down.  Ha,  and  so  little  Calvin  was 
right.  His  father  has  indeed  not  only  found  out  the 
murderer,  but  is  getting  at  a  nest  of  black-handers  or 
anarchists.  Fame  comes  in  devious  ways  —  to  the  Moys 
and  Dans  of  this  world.  However,  we're  not  much  con 
cerned  with  them  this  morning.  Mr.  Howerson,  I  have 
a  very  important  commission  for  you.  I  want  you  to 
negotiate  the  right-of-way  for  a  traction  line  from  Rock- 
dale,  Missouri,  thirty-five  miles  across  the  country,  tapp 
ing  a  line  projected  from  Des  Moines,  Iowa.  I  need  not 
emphasize  the  fact  that  you  will  have  to  go  about  it  very 
adroitly.  You  will  no  doubt  find  the  farmers  suspicious 
and  difficult  to  deal  with.  Employ  a  local  lawyer,  select 
ing  him  not  for  what  you  conceive  to  be  his  ability,  but 
as  much  as  possible  because  of  his  resemblance  to  a 
farmer. ' ' 

"  Some  retired  Populist  judge  defeated  for  re-election 
because  he  was  too  honest  for  politics,"  Howerson  sug 
gested  at  a  venture. 

"  You  catch  the  idea  precisely,  Mr.  Howerson,"  and 
upon  his  diplomatist  he  cast  a  quick  look  of  esteem,  but 
in  it  there  was  no  invitation  to  dinner.  "  Exactly.  I 
have  here  a  plan  drawn  up,  which  you  will  follow  as 
nearly  as  you  can,  depending  at  all  times  on  your  own 
judgment.  As  I  say,  the  work  will  take  time  and 
patience.  You  will  leave  for  Rockdale  —  ' ' 


380  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  To-night,"  said  Howerson.  "  The  morning  train, 
I  should  think,  is  gone." 

"  Leave  to-morrow  morning.  I  want  you  to  take  the 
day  train  and  stop  for  an  hour  or  so  at  a  station  called 
Hoopgood,  look  into  a  coal-mining  property  there  and 
report  on  it." 

' '  I  shall  do  so,  sir.  Rockdale ;  that 's  where  my  friend 
Watldns  is  manager  of  your  interests. ' ' 

'  Yes,  and  he  is  proving  himself  an  invaluable  man. 
I  haven't  had  even  a  suggestion  of  trouble  since  he  took 
charge.  Moreover,  the  output  of  the  mines  has  been 
greatly  increased." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  I  assure  you." 

"  Ha,  naturally.  You  will  of  course  demonstrate  to 
the  farmers  that  this  road  will  be  a  blessing  to  them.  It 
is  sometimes  easier  to  effect  a  treaty  with  the  most  bar 
baric  of  nations  than  to  put  through  a  simple  deal  with 
the  most  civilized  of  farmers.  The  trouble  with  the 
American  farmer  is  that  he  thinks  he's  a  statesman." 

"  I  think  the  trouble  is,"  said  Howerson,  "  that  he 
knows  he's  sharp." 

"  Eh?  Perhaps  so.  It  may  be  advisable  in  some 
instances  to  sell  a  share  or  two  of  stock  to  some  of  the 
more  influential  of  them  and  —  ahem  — •  they  can  be 
dealt  with  afterwards  by  me.  Oh,  in  a  perfectly  hon 
orable  manner,  you  understand,"  Howerson  had  looked 
at  him  searchingly.  "  In  nearly  every  neighborhood 
you  can  enlist  the  active  interest  of  the  preacher,  with 
assurance  of  annual  passes  for  himself  and  family.  Our 
road  will  help  him  to  spread  the  Gospel,  or  himself, 
which  to  him  is  the  same  thing.  If  you  strike  a  place 
where  they  are  building  a  church,  contribute  to  the 
fund.  ...  I  believe  that's  about  all.  Here  are 
your  more  serious  but  not  more  important  instructions. ' ' 


A  STRAGGLING  VISIT  381 

He  handed  over  a  big  envelope  and  shut  Howerson 
out  of  his  mind. 

During  the  day  the  Poet  employed  himself  with  look 
ing  into  the  death  of  old  Marsh,  to  whose  widow  the 
court  had  awarded  five  thousand  dollars,  and  found  that 
the  verdict,  though  rendered  by  "Whateley's  enemy,  was 
a  just  decision.  Late  in  the  afternoon  he  went  over  to 
the  hat  house  to  call  on  his  friend,  new  member  of  the 
firm,  and  found  him  sitting  in  the  office,  dictating  to  a 
thin  maiden,  joyous  in  his  fresh  importance.  Sam 
rushed  out  to  bring  in  the  two  other  members,  Mr.  Clung, 
easily  a  millionaire,  and  showing  he  felt  the  importance 
of  that  fact  by  the  throat-clearing  introduction  of  his 
partner,  Judge  Brose,  who,  years  ago,  stepped  down  from 
his  pine  bench  as  justice  of  the  peace  to  dispose  of 
blankets  and  whiskey  to  the  Indians  at  the  mouth  of  the 
St.  Joe  River.  But  he  had  atoned  for  all  that,  having 
sent  hymn  books  to  Booker  Washington's  school,  and 
having  attached  his  name  with  broad  swipe  of  gold  pen 
to  a  prohibition  petition.  Harvester  of  more  experience, 
he  was  the  talkative  member,  and  he  assured  Howerson 
that  he  was  very  glad  to  meet  him,  very.  ' '  I  read  your 
poem  written  for  the  paper  the  other  day,  and  my  wife 
thought  it  was  very  good  indeed.  I  don't  write  poetry 
myself,  but  my  wife  does.  I  married  a  schoolteacher  the 
last  time,  sir,  and  that  may  account  for  it." 

Howerson  seized  upon  the  chance  to  whisper  to  Joyce, 
"  Let's  get  out  of  here." 

They  went  out,  but  Howerson,  perceiving  that  his 
friend  was  anxious  over  the  letters  he  had  to  get  off, 
halted  and  said:  "  Go  on  back,  Sam.  I  know  you  are 
busy." 

"  Oh,  no,  George,  not  at  all.  The  letters  can  wait." 

"  How  many  have  you  got  to  dictate?  " 


382  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

"  Oh,  fifty,  perhaps.    But—  " 

"  But  you'll  go  back  and  get  at  it,  and  if  you're 
through  before  all  the  sparks  go  out,  come  over  to  the 
*  cave.'  I  leave  to-morrow  morning  to  be  gone  I  don't 
know  how  long." 

"  All  right.  If  it's  not  too  late  I'll  come  over.  I'll 
see  you  at  the  station  anyhow.  Where  are  you  going 
and  what  time  does  your  train  leave?  " 

Howerson  told  him,  turned  him  about  toward  his  pur 
chased  opportunity  to  overwork  himself,  and  bade  him 
"  beat  it  back  to  the  cage."  Then  the  Poet,  his  heart 
hungry,  sought  the  neighborhood  of  Whateley's  house, 
passed  once  in  front  of  the  gate,  wandering  about  in  the 
dusk  and  the  storm-blowing  wind  from  the  west. 

He  went  to  his  "  cave,"  to  wait  for  Joyce,  and  he  sat 
bookless  and  brooding,  but  not  in  silence,  for  the  jolting 
thunder-cart  drove  over  the  town  and  the  driver  whipped 
up  his  horse  with  lashes  of  rain.  It  was  a  night  to  fit 
into  Howerson 's  mood.  At  each  crack  of  the  whip  from 
the  driver  of  the  thunder-cart  he  started;  at  each  creak 
of  the  floor,  of  a  rusty  hinge,  of  a  loose  casement,  he 
cringed.  The  Agents  of  Justice  were  cowards,  he  had 
said;  but  Moy  gave  him  the  lie.  Colonel  Banstree  had 
played  them  false;  he  was  dead. 

A  knock  at  the  door,  and  with  hand  on  the  knob  How 
erson  called  out,  "  Who  is  it?  " 

"  Sam  Joyce,"  the  answer  came,  and  laughing  his 
heavy  dreariness  to  flight  he  flung  the  door  open. 
"  Come  in." 

In  came  Hudsic,  and  shoving  close  upon  him,  Sengle 
and  Batterson.  Howerson  fell  back,  swept  for  a  moment 
into  dismay.  But  it  was  not  a  time  for  fright,  for  weak 
ness  ;  and  looking  upon  Hudsic,  standing  there  in  a  sort 
of  satanic  grace  and  coolness,  he  said : 


A  STEAGGLING  VISIT  383 

"  Sit  down." 

Hudsic  bowed,  smiling,  and  turning  toward  his  friends 
motioned  them  to  seats  on  an  improvised  davenport 
along  the  wall  near  the  door.  He  took  a  chair,  placing 
his  hat,  red  handkerchief  in  it,  beside  him  on  the  floor. 
"  Will  not  our  dear  brother  please  to  be  seated?  "  he 
said.  Howerson  sat  down,  leaning  back  against  the 
table.  He  waited,  puffy  Batterson  breathing  hard. 

Hudsic  began  slowly  to  speak:  "  Ah,  so  forgetful  is 
sudden  prosperity  of  its  old  and  less  fortunate  friends 
that  you  neglected  to  —  ahem  —  apprise  us  of  your  new 
place  of  abode." 

' '  Yes,  you  —  ' '  Sengle  began,  but  Hudsic  gestured 
him  to  silence  and  continued. 

"  But  brothers  left  in  the  struggle  are  persistent  of 
friendship,  and  thus  it  was  that  we  —  I  found  you,  fol 
lowed  you  home  last  night  from  the  Criminal  Court 
Building,  but  was  —  er  —  too  modest  to  intrude  upon 
you  at  that  late  hour,  supposing  that  you  might  be  at 
your  newly-acquired  devotions.  And  you  will  now 
please  pardon  our  little  device,  the  method  we  had  of 
obtaining  ingress.  "We  have  seen  your  name  coupled 
with  that  of  Mr.  Sam  Joyce,  and  presumed  that  a  visit 
from  him,  if  not  directly  expected,  might  not  be  unwel 
come.  Sorry  to  have  disappointed  you." 

Howerson  leaned  back  against  the  table.  "  I  trust 
that  smoking  is  not  offensive  to  you,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  not  at  all." 

Howerson  lighted  his  pipe.  Great  Julius  said  that  men 
fear  most  the  evils  that  are  furthest  from  them ;  and 
now,  looking  into  the  countenance  of  his  long  dread,  it 
did  not  seem  so  fearful.  He  waited.  Hudsic  went  to 
the  door,  looked  out,  came  back  slowly  and  resumed  his 
seat,  leaving  the  door  slightly  ajar. 


384  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  We  heard  that  you  were  abroad  and  were  much 
aggrieved."  Out  of  his  hat  he  took  his  handkerchief, 
wiped  his  face  and  dropped  the  red  rag  back  into  its 
place.  "  Ahem  —  and  were  much  pleased  to  see  your 
name  in  the  newspapers.  But  surely  you  have  written 
better  poems." 

' '  To  the  point,  Professor. ' ' 

"  Point  indeed.  Our  worthy  brother  Chi  Moy  came 
to  the  point,  eh?  Ah!  "  he  cackled,  noting  Howerson's 
start  as  confirmation  of  his  fears  shot  home.  ' '  You  saw 
between  the  lines  of  the  Chinaman's  confession.  From 
him  the  hounds  of  the  law  will  catch  no  scent.  Banstree 
defied  us  long;  he  was  bold.  But  Moy  was  true  to  his 
oath  —  a  heathen.  I  suppose  you  remember  having 
called  him  a  heathen,  Mr.  Howerson,  the  night  when  you 
dedicated  your  life  to  a  holy  work." 

"  I  remember  the  brute." 

"  No  doubt."  Hudsic  paused  to  listen.  "  Not  lux 
urious  but  rather  pleasant  quarters  you  have  here,  Mr. 
Howerson." 

"  Beats  the  cellar  I  once  found  him  in,"  spoke  up 
Sengle. 

"  Or  the  garret  where  he  swallowed  poison,"  said 
Batterson. 

Howerson  smoked.  "  Well,  what  is  it  you  have  come 
to  demand?  Money? 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Howerson,"  said  Hudsic,  "  we  are 
not  tax  collectors. ' ' 

"  Then  what  do  you  ask  of  me?  " 

' '  Ask  ?  We  ask  nothing,  Mr.  Howerson.  We  demand 
that  which  is  our  own,  by  oath. ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  see.    Then  you  want  - 

"  Please  do  not  say  want,  Mr.  Howerson.    Say  rather 


A  STRAGGLING  VISIT  385 

that  we  are  ready  to  receive  our  just  due,  your  life,  Mr. 
Howerson. ' ' 

"  Ah,  anything  else?  " 

Sengle  sprang  up.    "  Let  me  shoot  him,  Professor." 

"  Sit  down.  We  are  not  here  to  be  brutal.  Do  not 
forget  that  in  the  presence  of  so  perfect  a  gentleman 
as  our  host,  you  too  must  be  gentle." 

"  Are  we  to  play  a  farce?  "  Howerson  inquired. 

"  That  depends  upon  you,"  Hudsic  answered  him. 
* '  And  before  we  proceed  further  toward  the  accomplish 
ment  of  our  mission,  let  us  express  our  gratitude  to  you 
for  the  —  hem  —  remoteness  of  the  neighborhood,  and  to 
nature  for  thunder  that  will  swallow  up  lesser  noises. 
However,  I  do  not  anticipate  any  disturbance.  Ah, 
Sengle,  you  might  stand  out  in  the  hall  to  serve  as  guide 
to  the  other  Brothers.  We  have  had  some  little  difficulty 
in  getting  together,  Mr.  Howerson,  but  you  must  know 
that  the  time  has  been  short. 

"  Er  —  we  could  on  numerous  occasions  have  shot 
you  down,  Mr.  Howerson,  but  that  would  have  left  no 
moral,  and  an  act  without  moral  effect  is  but  wasted 
energy.  We  could  have  —  pardon  me  for  a  blunt  word 
—  killed  Whateley,  too,  but  after  your  lapse,  our  thought 
was  not  of  him,  but  of  you,  Mr.  Howerson.  One  of  our 
men  was  near  you  when,  having  come  from  the  office  of 
your  new  master,  you  shudderingly  dropped  your  pistol 
into  the  river;  then  we  knew  that  you  were  a  man  too 
weak  for  just  vengeance.  But  there  are  men  who  are 
not  too  weak." 

Thunder  rumbled,  rain  lashed  the  window,  and  from  a 
skylight  somewhere  in  the  building  came  the  noise  of 
desperate  revel,  pigmy  furies  dancing  a  clog. 

"  You  have  no  regret  to  express,  Mr.  Howerson?  " 


386  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  For  having  been  aroused  from  a  nightmare?  No." 
"  Do  you  call  a  most  solemn  oath  a  nightmare?  " 
"  The  oath  I  took  in  your  presence  I  call  an  insanity. 

I  violated  that  insanity  by  becoming  sane.     Do  I  owe 
you  or  your  so-called  brotherhood  anything?     Didn't  I 
more    than    return    the    money?      Didn't    that    square 
accounts?  " 

Hudsic  smiled.  "  To  square  accounts  with  a  poet  is 
to  give  the  fretful  child  the  toy  it  cries  for.  But  justice 
sometimes  demands  that  a  child  shall  be  punished.  ,  L. 
And  you  refuse  even  to  explain." 

"  No,  I  don't  refuse  to  do  that.  In  desperate  faith  I 
took  that  oath,  and  entered  Whateley's  office  determined 
to  kill  him.  But  I  caught  sight  of  myself  in  a  mirror,  a 
man,  a  gentleman,  if  you  please,  and  not  a  ragged 
assassin.  .  .  Even  then  I  might  have  murdered  him, 
still  insane  though  shaken,  but  in  ran  a  little  boy,  and  I 
saw  the  hard  capitalist  melt  into  love  and  pour  it  forth, 
the  love  of.  a  simple  old  man.  Then  there  seemed  to  fall 
upon  me  a  dream,  and  out  of  that  dream  a  music  never 
heard  before,  and  there  arose  the  vision  of  —  " 

"  Let  us  have  done  with  this  rhapsody,  Mr. 
Howerson. ' ' 

Batterson  spoke  up :  "A  very  touching  story.  Print 
it  in  a  woman's  magazine." 

With  his  head  thrust  in  at  the  door  Sengle  snarled, 

II  Write  it  on  curl  papers." 

"  Since  then,  Mr.  Howerson,"  Hudsic  proceeded, 
"  you  have  become  prolific  of  enterprises.  You  were 
dazzled  and  you  fell." 

"  I  was  dazzled  and  I  arose." 

"  Yes,  you  arose  and  flew  away  from  the  most  solemn 
obligation  that  mortal  man  could  take.  In  the  exu 
berance  of  your  flight  you  did  not  think  of  that." 


A  STRAGGLING  VISIT  387 

"  I  have  thought  of  everything.  You  are  therefore 
saved  the  trouble  of  reminding  me." 

"  Ah.    And  you  deem  your  apology  sufficient?  " 

' '  I  deem  it  at  least  conclusive. ' ' 

"  So  far  as  it  serves  the  unities  of  your  eccentric 
drama.  I  see.  But  eccentric  drama  is  usually  distorted 
comedy,  Mr.  Howerson,  while  the  drama  of  justice  may 
call  for  tragedy.  And  you  try  to  deceive  us  and  explain 
it  away  with  the  love  of  an  old  man  for  a  boy  and  per 
haps  your  own  love  for  a  woman." 

Hudsic  laughed,  a  cold  sneer,  and  Batterson  snorted 
his  contempt.  Howerson  put  down  his  pipe  and  sat 
looking  at  them.  Hudsic  spoke: 

"  But  there  is  another  woman  who  has  upon  you  a 
prior  and  a  more  sacred  claim,  Mr.  Howerson.  Surely 
you  have  not  forgotten  Annie  Zondish." 

' '  I  remember  her  as  one  remembers  —  ' ' 

"  Eyeless  justice  with  her  scales,"  the  Professor 
interrupted. 

' '  A  nightmare.  With  a  brass  spoon  she  fed  my  delir 
ium,  poisoning  my  soul  with  verdigris." 

' '  Ingratitude,  Mr.  Howerson.  She  snatched  you  from 
the  jaws  —  ah,  she  is  here!  " 

Noiseless,  and  slow,  like  a  cat,  Annie  Zondish  came 
into  the  room.  She  shook  the  raindrops  from  her  hair 
and  stood  gazing.  Howerson  did  not  flinch. 

' '  And  so  we  find  you, ' '  she  said. 

"  Yes.    Won't  you  sit  down?  " 

Her  face  darkened  with  contempt.  "  Oh,  I  wish  I 
could  make  you  feel  how  I  despise  you !  ' ' 

"  Imagine  that  I  feel  it  and  let  us  get  through  with 
this  farce." 

"  Farce!  Oh,  yes,  it  wrould  be  a  comedy  to  strangle 
an  ape." 


388  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Howerson  bowed  mockingly  and  then  addressed  him 
self  to  Hudsic:  "  Well,  you  haven't  as  yet  proved  the 
object  of  this  straggling  visit." 

Hudsic  looked  toward  the  door,  listening.  ' '  The  proof 
lags  but  will  come,  Mr.  Howerson." 

"  You  needn't  pronounce  my  name  every  time  you 
speak  to  me." 

'  Tired  of  hearing  your  name,"  said  Annie.  "  In 
that  sensitiveness  we  sympathize  with  you  to  the  extent 
of  promising  complete  relief. ' ' 

"  Why  not  speak  English?  "  said  Howerson,  slowly 
shaking  his  head.  Annie,  with  gesture,  requested  from 
Hudsic  the  privilege  to  reply.  The  professor  smiled  his 
acquiescence. 

"  Wet  straw  smokes  much  before  it  burns,"  she  said. 
Then  she  advanced,  stood  within  touch  of  him,  looked 
him  hard  in  the  eye.  "  We  have  come  to  demand  our 
due.  Do  you  recall  your  oath  ?  Do  you  remember  that 
in  the  event  of  the  betrayal  of  your  trust  you  were  to 
surrender  your  life?  Is  your  memory  so  very  short?  " 

Hudsic  spoke.  "  You  gave  us  a  judgment  note,  Mr. 
Howerson. ' ' 

"  I  shall  not  pretend  longer  to  misunderstand  you," 
said  Howerson.  "  After  his  night-school  manner  Pro 
fessor  Hudsic  made  it  clear  before  you  came,  Miss 
Zondish.  But  it  is  silly.  Let  me  remind  you  that  this 
is  America.  When  I  first  met  you  I  was  abroad,  a  tramp 
in  the  land  of  dementia.  I  left  you  and  returned  home. 
Professor,  the  majority  of  your  brotherhood  are  Rus 
sians,  and  Miss  Zondish,  you  are  from  the  czar's  country, 
I  believe." 

"  Yes,  and  it  was  for  such  as  you  that  I  came  to  this 
wilderness  of  wolves  and  weakness,  where  you  read  the 


A  STRAGGLING  VISIT  389 

old  Jew  book,  listen  to  the  divine  right  of  gold  and  call 
yourselves  educated  and  moral." 

"  Now  you  are  getting  away  from  ordinary  farce," 
said  Howerson,  and  then  he  added :  ' '  Professor,  in  her 
most  speculative  dreams  Russia  could  not  see  the  vision 
of  a  democracy  such  as  you  found  here.  Offered  every 
advantage,  it  would  take  your  class  in  Russia  five  hun 
dred  years  to  spell  out  the  difference  between  anarchy 
and  republicanism." 

Again  Hudsic  looked  toward  the  door,  listening. 
Then  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  silenced  Annie  who 
had  begun  to  speak,  and  spoke  himself :  ' '  We  have  but 
little  time  to  spare,  but  I  demand  a  moment,  sir.  In 
Russia  we  are  oppressed  by  a  political  power,  but  here 
it  is  a  money  power  which  will  grow  into  the  most  heart 
less  of  all  oppression.  I  have  but  to  call  your  attention 
to  the  sweat  shops,  and  to  thousands  of  men,  who,  driven 
to  despair  by  the  trusts,  are  forced  to  murder 
themselves. ' ' 

Annie  had  stepped  back.  Now  she  moved  forward 
again,  waved  Hudsic  to  silence  arid  spoke:  "  Such  a 
discussion  at  such  a  time!  I  can  hardly  conceive  of  it. 
Mr.  Howerson,  we  demand  your  life.  In  our  hearts 
there  might  be  mercy,  but  the  advancement  of  our  cause 
cries  out  for  vengeance." 

"  Mr.  Howerson,"  said  Hudsic,  "it  is  a  matter  of 
history  that  in  this  city  a  man  who  had  betrayed  his 
brothers  was  found  in  a  sewer,  with  his  throat  cut.  The 
newspapers  still  shudder  over  the  sad  fate  of  our 
one  time  brother,  Col.  Banstree.  You  found  him.  Ah, 
come  in,  brothers.  We  had  to  turn  this  affair  into  a 
social  visit  in  order  that  you  might  get  here  in  time. ' ' 

Henk  and  Zenicoff,  the  two  other  Agents  of  Justice 


390  THE  NEW  MB.  HOWERSON 

present  when  Zondish  administered  to  Howerson  the 
death  oath,  now  came  in,  with  drunkard  bluster.  When 
in  Henk's  red  eye  Howerson  saw  the  murder-look,  he 
shuddered,  knowing  now  that  though  the  play  began 
in  farce  it  must  have  a  bloody  ending. 

' '  What !  ' '  Henk  cried ;  ' '  are  you  giving  him  a 
chance  to  argue ?  Foolish!  String  him  up.  Ah,  there's 
his  gallows,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  chandelier.  "  Up 
with  him  or  he'll  talk  you  out  of  it!  "  From  beneath 
his  coat  he  uncoiled  a  rope. 

Hudsie,  arising,  waved  him  to  silence.  "  Brothers, 
justice  should  never  be  boisterous. ' '  He  bowed  to  How 
erson.  "  It  wa's  Lord  Bacon  who  said  that  revenge  is  a 
sort  of  wild  justice.  But  our  justice  must  not  be  wild, 
for  it  is  not  revenge." 

"  Professor,"  said  Howerson,  "  I  can't  help  admiring 
you." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir.  Your  compliment  reminds  me  of 
an  incident  when  I  was  in  Siberia.  We  had  tunneled 
to  escape  prison,  and  just  before  entering  the  trench  one 
Imligoff  sank  to  his  knees  and  began  to  pray,  whereupon 
I  was  forced  to  admonish  him,  '  Into  the  tunnel,  Imli- 
goff ;  this  is  no  time  for  flattery. '  I  could  tell  you  many 
amusing  episodes  but  you  —  ha !  —  could  not  remember 
them.  As  I  say,  we  could  have  shot  you,  but  that  would 
have  been  immoral  —  I  mean  without  moral.  But  found 
hanging  to  the  chandelier,  with  a  chair  kicked  out  of  the 
way,  and  with  a  note  on  your  table  wherein  our  apt 
Brother  Henk,  marvelous  penman,  has  perfectly  imitated 
your  hand,  telling  why  you  committed  suicide  —  that 
will  be  a  moral  for  all  men  who  think  to  betray  a  sacred 
brotherhood. ' ' 

Henk  was  making  a  noose.  Zenicoff  locked  both  doors, 
and  took  out  the  keys.  Hudsie  spoke  to  Henk:  "  It  may 


A  STRAGGLING  VISIT  391 

be  necessary  to  wait  for  a  clap  of  thunder  and  to  shoot 
him." 

They  rushed  upon  him.  Howerson  leaped  from  his 
chair.  In  a  flash  he  jerked  the  old  sword  from  the 
wall.  Before  they  could  bat  the  eye  of  astonishment,  the 
ancient  blade  was  whistling  in  a  circle  of  fire  about  his 
head.  "  Out!  "  he  cried  advancing  upon  the  drunken, 
Henk,  who  fright-eyed  fell  back,  fumbling  with  his  pistol. 
* '  Unlock  the  door,  Zenicoff ,  or  I  '11  pin  you  to  the  wall !  ' ' 
The  coward  flew  to  the  door,  and  with  the  key  was 
chattering  at  the  lock  when  upon  the  other  door  there 
came  a  loud  knock.  Into  a  corner  Hudsic  and  the  rest 
had  retreated,  and  now  in  panic  they  fell  apart. 

' '  Who 's  there !  ' '  Howerson  cried,  and  in  deep  tone 
the  answer  came : 

"  The  police!  " 

Open  flew  Zenicoff 's  door,  and  out  into  the  north  and 
south  corridor  the  brothers  rushed,  sweeping  the  sister 
with  them.  Howerson  laughed,  a  cry  of  delight,  for  his 
blood  was  singing.  Into  a  corner  he  flung  the  sword, 
caught  up  the  key  that  Zenicoff  had  dropped,  unlocked 
the  other  door  and  threw  it  open:  "  Come  in!  "  Then 
came  from  without  the  music  of  a  merry  laugh ;  and  into 
the  room  like  the  romp  of  a  child,  someone  leaped,  still 
laughing;  and  dazzled  he  stood,  gazing  upon  Rose 
"Whateley. 


CHAPTER  XL. 
THE  POWER  THAT  MOVES  THE  WORLD 

Howerson  stood  gazing,  his  lips  apart,  unable  to  speak. 
Rose  resplendent  in  raindrop  diamonds,  still  laughing, 
halted  in  her  merriment  to  imitate  in  deep  voice  her 
answer  at  the  door,  "  The  police!  "  Laughing  again, 
all  in  a  moment,  while  the  Agents  of  Justice  could 
still  be  heard  scampering  down  the  stairs,  "  Pal,"  she 
said,  and  held  forth  her  hand. 

"  In  the  name  of  God!  " 

She  raised  a  protesting  finger,  and  now  with  no  laugh 
ter  in  her  countenance,  shook  her  head.  He  made  a 
motion  as  if  again  to  seize  her  hand.  ' '  Is  it  possible  —  ' ' 

"  Quite,"  she  broke  in,  and  now  she  laughed  again. 

"  I  don't  —  don't  understand." 

"  Nor  I.  But  we  shall?  "  Her  eyes  and  her  voice 
questioned  him. 

"  Yes,  when  it  becomes  possible.  But  now  I  am 
benumbed.  My  senses  tingle  like  a  foot  asleep." 

' '  What  were  they  going  to  do  ?    Kill  you  ?  ' : 

He  pointed  to  the  sword.  "  I  was  going  to  kill  them." 
And  then  as  she  smiled,  his  pent-up  blood  shot  through 
him,  and  he  laughed.  "  They  were  going  to  kill  me. 
You  saved  my  life." 

"  Please  let  me  think  so,  for  a  little  while,  anyhow." 

"  For  all  time.  But  you  must  tell  me  how  you  hap 
pened  to  come  here,  alone." 

"  Oh,  that  can  be  made  plain  enough.  But  first  I 
must  know  why  they  were  going  to  kill  you." 

392 


THE  POWER  THAT  MOVES  THE  WORLD    393 

He  could  not  find  in  his  heart  the  courage  to  tell  her. 
But  some  sort  of  explanation  must  be  offered : 

"  A  gang  of  anarchists  seeking  to  assassinate  me 
because  I  am  employed  by  your  father.  But  he  must  not 
know  anything  about  it,"  he  added  quickly.  "  Be 
patient  with  me  and  when  I  come  back  from  a  journey 
which  I  must  make  to-morrow,  it  shall  all  be  clear.  But 
now  I  must  beg  of  you  to  keep  secret  all  you  know  — 
even  what  you  have  done  to-night.  This  may  seem 
ungenerous  on  my  part  but  I  implore  it  of  you.  Your 
father  is  in  no  danger.  If  he  were  I  would  save  him  at 
the  expense  of  my  own  life. ' ' 

"  A  woman  would  like  to  know  why  she  is  a  heroine," 
she  said,  and  the  humor  and  the  sadness  mingling  in  her 
voice  smote  his  heart. 

'  Yes,  I  know,  my  —  my  dear  —  ' ' 

' '  Friend, ' '  she  suggested. 

He  bowed.  "  Yes,  I  know,  but  you  will  wait  a  short 
time,  won't  you?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  so  very  curious,"  she  said. 

' '  You  are  a  goddess. ' ' 

"  No,  not  that  inhuman.  I  am  a  little  more  curious, 
for  I  must  ask  a  few  questions:  Will  they  make  any 
further  attempt  to  assassinate  you?  " 

' '  No.    They  will  all  be  out  of  town  by  to-morrow. ' ' 

"  Then  you  will  not  try  to  have  them  arrested." 

' '  No ;  not  even  if  I  knew  where  I  could  lay  hands 
on  them.  But  I  shall  leave  them  to  think  they  are  in 
danger.  At  present,"  he  added  bending  upon  her  an 
entreating  look,  "  everything  must  be  kept  quiet.  I 
know  it  is  asking  a  great  deal —  " 

She  smiled,  sadly,  he  thought;  but  he  did  not  adven 
ture  himself  now  to  speak  further,  for  in  deep  emotion 
he  realized  the  wildness  of  the  storm  she  had  defied,  saw 


394  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

the  rain  and  the  wind  in  her  tangled  hair;  and  his 
knees  of  a  sudden  were  weak  as  if  he  felt  himself 
impelled  to  kneel  to  her.  But  she  spoke  in  the  kindly 
grace  of  her  inherited  humor,  and  laughed  his  weakness 
into  grateful  strength.  Then  he  had  the  steadiness  to 
remind  her  that  she  had  not  explained  how  she  knew 
the  place  of  his  secret  abode  or  why  at  this  time  she  had 
come  through  the  wind  and  the  rain. 

"  Why,  I  was  returning  from  down-town  in  the  auto 
and  it  broke  down.  There  was  no  cab  handy  and  as  it 
was  raining,  I  hastened  across  to  another  street  and  got 
on  a  car."  Now  she  was  serious.  "  Near  me,  in  a  cor 
ner  sat  two  mean-looking  men.  They  appeared  to  have 
been  drinking.  Suddenly  I  became  conscious  of  what 
they  were  muttering.  I  had  caught  your  name.  One 
of  them  took  out  a  slip  of  paper  and  in  a  smothered 
tone  but  loud  enough  for  me  to  hear,  read  the  number  of 
your  office.  I  gathered,  though  I  couldn't  catch  their 
exact  words,  that  they  were  going  to  punish  you  for 
failing  to  keep  some  sort  of  obligation.  When  they  got 
off  I  followed  them.  I  wouldn't  call  the  police  because 
I  didn't  want  any  publicity.  It  was  all  simple  enough. 
It  was  a  lark  and  I  enjoyed  it.  And  now  I  must  get 
home.  Company  is  waiting  for  me." 

' '  For  a  heroine,  yes,  it  was  simple  enough, ' '  said  How- 
erson.  "  It  was  safe  enough  for  a  woman  with  a  great 
shielding  soul  to  —  " 

' '  Mr.  Howerson,  I  forbid  you.  Why,  women  do  thou 
sands  of  things  more  heroic  every  day."  She  looked  at 
him,  smiling  in  the  fullness  of  her  radiant  being,  and  it 
seemed  that  the  air  grew  suddenly  aglow,  paling  the 
lamps  overhead,  for  all  other  lights  are  dim  when  the 
light  of  the  soul  burns  high.  "  Good  night." 

"  Wait,  I'll  get  a  taxi.     It  has  begun  to  rain  hard 


THE  POWER  THAT  MOVES  THE  WORLD    395 

again,  but  there's  a  stand  not  far  from  here  and  I  can 
run  over  there  very  quickly." 

"  Why,  you  needn't  go  out  in  the  rain.  You  can 
telephone." 

"  I  can't.  That  wire  connects  only  with  the  office. 
Wait  here,  please."  Snatching  his  hat  he  rushed  out, 
grateful  to  the  rain  for  beating  upon  him,  and  with  hat 
off  he  bared  his  head  to  it. 

Rose  walked  about  the  room,  looking  at  the  dingy 
designs  on  the  wall,  seeing  fantastic  pictures  where 
none  was  intended:  a  bearded  hermit  sitting  in  front 
of  his  door,  an  ancient  castle  with  bowmen  on  the  bat 
tlements.  Hearing  the  door  creak  she  looked  about,  and 
in  came  a  woman,  wearing  a  red  cap.  Slowly  and  for 
a  time  without  speaking  the  two  women  advanced  toward 
each  other,  one  as  calm  as  if  she  were  in  her  father's 
house,  the  other  biting  back  the  emotion  that  surged 
outward  to  her  lips. 

The  agitated  woman  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  Do  you 
know  who  —  who  I  am  ?  ' : 

With  the  not  ungracious  smile  of  perfect  self-posses 
sion  came  the  answer.  "  I  don't  believe  that  I  have 
ever  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you." 

"  Oh,  you  don't.  Quite  remarkable,  is  it  not?  But 
let  us  have  done  with  your  society  hauteur  and  get 
down  to  common  sense.  I  have  seen  you  before.  From 
a  lofty  perch  many  times  I  have  looked  down  upon  you 
at  the  opera.  You  are  Rose  Whateley.  I  am  Annie 
Zondish." 

"  I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,  Miss  Zondish." 

Zondish  flashed  her  scorn.  "  From  society  banter  to 
downright  lying." 

Old  Calvin's  hot  blood  flew  to  her  face,  but  ebbed 
back,  cooling ;  and  Rose  stood,  calm,  smiling.  ' '  Yes,  I 


396  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

am  really  glad  to  meet  you.    I  like  to  meet  individuals. ' ' 

"  Specimens,  you  mean." 

"  Women  who  count,"  came  the  quick  reply. 

A  defiant  look.     "  I   don't  believe  it.     You  would 
rather  have  met  any  other  woman  in  America.     . 
But  may  I  ask  why  I  find  you  here  in  a  man 's  room  ?  ' ' 

"  In  a  man 's  office  ?    Yes.    Perhaps  I  came  to  —  " 

"  To  frighten  cowards,"  Annie  Zondish  broke  in. 
"  But  one  of  them,  cowardly  and  weak  only  for  a 
moment,  has  come  back  strong.  ...  I  expected  to 
confront  the  son  of  perfidy,  and  not  the  daughter  of  a 
beast." 

Old  Calvin's  eyes  shot  forth  their  lightning.  "  I  do 
not  wish  to  quarrel  with  you,  but  I  am  younger  and 
stronger  than  you,  and  I  shall  not  permit  you  to  call 
my  father  a  beast." 

* '  He  is  fattened  on  the  blood  of  innocence. ' ' 

"  You  do  not  know  my  father.  Why  do  you  hate 
him?  " 

* '  Why  ?  I  hate  his  kind.  He  represents  the  greed  of 
power  that  —  ' ' 

' '  That  you  and  your  kind  envy. ' ' 

"  I  envy  no  man." 

"  Your  followers  then.  You  are  the  high  priestess  of 
destruction.  Your  disciples  are  the  votaries  of  avarice. 
Which  one  of  them  would  you  trust  with  a  million 
dollars?  " 

"  Money  means  nothing  to  me." 

"  Which  one  of  your  followers  would  you  trust? 
None!  You  hate  my  father  for  what  you  think  him 
to  be  —  I  love  him  for  what  he  is.  But  why  should 
your  hatred  go  out  to  George  Howerson?  " 

' '  Because  he  has  betrayed  our  cause.     He  —  ' ' 


' '  He  has  found  the  good  iu  my  father.    You,  too  — 

"  I  do  not  sell  my  soul  —  my  principles." 

"  Nor  he.  George  Howerson  is  as  fine  a  man  as  ever 
breathed. ' ' 

"  So,  too,  I  thought  —  once." 

"  You  will  think  so  again  when  you  understand." 

"  I  understand  everything.  He  has  sold  himself  for 
sentiment."  There  was  a  sneer  in  her  tone. 

' '  He  has  redeemed  himself  with  loyalty  to  truth  —  to 
himself.  You  hate  him.  He  loves  you  —  as  his  sister 
who  would  do  him  wrong."  In  Rose's  voice  there  was 
a  tone  of  so  warm  and  sincere  an  earnestness  that  the 
anarchist  started  with  an  emotion  which  she  was  not 
accustomed  to  feel,  and  she  gazed  at  old  Calvin's  daugh 
ter,  her  eyes  not  now  so  hard. 

Rose,  giving  her  no  time  to  re-heat  her  anger,  con 
tinued,  in  a  softened  voice :  "  I  would  be  the  last  woman 
in  the  world  to  hurt  you;  I  have  read  several  sketches 
that  you  wrote,  when  you  turned  from  violence  to  gen 
tleness,  and  there  was  heart  in  them." 

Annie  Zondish  looked  at  her.  Rose  continued :  ' '  And 
I  said  to  myself,  '  I  should  like  to  meet  that  woman. 
She  has  a  soul.'  ' 

"I  —  I  don 't  want  to  believe  you.     Your  class  —  ' ' 

"  I  have  no  class,  Miss  Zondish.  Like  you,  I  am  an 
individual,  and  differently  environed,  I  might  have 
fought  society  as  you  are  fighting  it.  So  after  all,  we 
are  but  sisters,  estranged." 

"  Impossible.  We  can  never  be  other  than  implacable 
enemies,  and  I  am  astonished  at  myself  that  I  stand  here, 
pretending  to  reason  with  you." 

"  Enemies!  Why  should  you  and  I  not  understand 
each  other  better?  Then  there  could  be  no  enmity,  for 


398  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

then  you  would  see  that  my  dearest  aim  in  life  is  to 
help  the  weak  and  the  sorrowful.  I  have  done  a  great 
deal  of  settlement  work  and  —  ' ' 

"  Settlement  work,"  Zondish  repeated  scornfully, 
"  is  —  "  She  snapped  her  fingers. 

"  Yes,  largely,"  Rose  admitted,  "for  society  makes 
a  fad  of  it.  Much  of  it  is  done  for  mere  show,  and  the 
best  things  of  this  life  are  not  the  show  things.  And 
do  you  suppose  that  I  would  spend  my  life  talking  about 
trifles,  weeping  over  silly  stories?  Do  you  think  that 
I  would  seek  to  establish  myself  as  a  leader  of  an  idle 
society?  Miss  Zondish,  the  instinct  of  usefulness  was 
born  within  me.  And  you  could  never  guess  the  dearest, 
the  tenderest  story  told  to  me  by  my  mother.  It  was 
this:  As  a  girl  down  in  North  Carolina,  a  poor  girl 
in  a  log  cabin,  with  only  two  books  in  the  house,  she  was 
out  in  the  yard,  doing  the  family  washing,  when  my 
father  came  and  asked  her  to  come  home  with  him." 

Annie  Zondish  had  looked  down,  but  now  she  looked 
up.  "  Then  how  did  you  escape  being  a  snob?  " 

"  That  is  a  very  natural  question.  But  the  germ  of 
snobbery  was  not  in  my  blood." 

"  That  is  all  well  enough,  but  we  are  off  the  subject 
—  off  from  what  I  intended  to  say  when  I  saw  you  stand 
ing  here,  on  a  spot  where  justice  had  just  been 
strangled. ' ' 

"  Oh,  no,  Miss  Zondish,  we  are  not  off  the  subject  so 
long  as  we  talk  of  truth  and  sympathy.  I  told  you  I 
was  glad  to  meet  you,  and  I  meant  it,  and  for  this  rea 
son:  You  can  teach  me  how  best  to  help  certain  people, 
not  in  the  way  of  postponing  their  need,  but  —  ' ' 

"  I  could  teach  you  but  you  would  give  me  no  ear. 
I  could  tell  you  to  remove  the  cause  —  to  exterminate 
the  oppressors.  Don't  you  see  that  you  and  I  can  only 


THE  POWER  THAT  MOVES  THE  WORLD    399 

be  enemies.  .  .  .  But  I  am  not  so  heartless  as  not 
to  —  to  appreciate  the  interest  you  have  shown  in  me. 
Kindliness  from  a  woman  is  something  novel  to  me. 
Women  educated  me,  marked  it  down  to  their  credit 
and  set  me  adrift." 

"  No,  we  must  not  be  enemies,"  and  now  they  stood 
closer  together.  "  We  shall  have  a  common  aim,  and 
common  aims  make  brothers  and  sisters.  Miss  Zondish, 
come  to  my  house,  be  my  friend,  and  let  us  organize  a 
practical  system  for  the  betterment  of  the  wretched. 
Your  experience  —  ' ' 

"  My  experience  teaches  me  that  we  must  kill.  Miss 
Whateley,  I  thank  you  for  —  but  I  must  go. ' ' 

"  No,"  Rose  cried  out,  catching  at  her  hand.  "  You 
must  not  put  such  a  disappointment  on  me,  for  within 
the  past  few  moments  I  have  built  up  a  high  hope. 
Don't  go,  please.  Promise  me  that  you  will  come  to 
my  house." 

"  Oh,  no.  You  ask  me  to  throw  aside  in  a  moment 
the  aim  of  a  lifetime.  Miss  Whateley,  your  drama  is  too 
swift." 

"  Every  great  drama  is  swift,  and  let  us  play  swiftly 
in  the  drama  of  life." 

Annie  bit  her  lip.  "  Somebody  has  dramatized  you. 
.  .  .  .  You  ask  too  much  of  me,  Miss  Whateley.  It 
cannot  be. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  but  it  must  be.  I  feel  that  you  will  not  withhold 
your  hand  when  it  can  be  of  such  help.  Think  of  the 
little  children  we  can  save,  you  and  I.  Think  of  the 
glowing  lamps  we  can  light  where  now  all  is  darkness. 
Miss  Zondish  —  Annie  —  nothing  can  be  accomplished 
by  violence.  Sympathy  is  the  greatest  power  that  the 
world  has  ever  known ;  and  I  know  that  your  great  and 
passionate  heart  is  full  of  sympathy.  There  is  only  one 


400  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

step  between  violence  and  gentleness,  and  I  beg  of  you 
to  take  that  step.  Teach  me  out  of  your  great  store 
house  of  wisdom.  Help  me,  a  really  lonely  woman  who 
longs  to  do  good  in  the  world.  Please  —  ' ' 

"  Let  me  go.  You  are  a  hypnotist.  You  would  make 
me  weak.  I  hated  you  and  —  now  you  reproach  me  with 
your  heart." 

"  No,  I  do  not  reproach  you.  In  the  name  of  stricken 
humanity  I  implore  you  to  come  to  my  house,  and 
together  we  will  make  many  a  poor  heart  glad." 

"I  —  I  didn  't  know  that  there  was  such  a  woman  in 
this  great  wilderness  of  greed  and  cruelty." 

11  Then  you  believe  me?  Say  that  you  do.  Say  that 
you  will  come  to  my  house.  Say  that  we  shall  be  sisters 
of  sympathy." 

And  now  old  Calvin's  daughter  caught  the  woman's 
hand,  pressed  it  to  her  bosom,  and  from  the  anarchist's 
eyes  the  tears  were  flowing.  "I  —  I  will  come,"  she 
said,  and  Rose's  arms  were  now  about  her. 

"  Yes,  my  estranged  sister  now  come  back  to  me,  and 
in  the  grateful  eyes  of  old  men  and  of  children  we  shall 
read  our  happiness." 

"  I  will  come  but  I  must  go  now.  I  am  going  to  say 
something  that  I  had  forgotten  how  to  say:  God  bless 
you.  .  .  .  Let  me  go." 

"  Yes,  you  may  go  in  a  moment,  but  you  must  do 
as  I  beg  of  you.  It  has  begun  to  rain  harder  and  your 
shoulders  are  almost  bare.  I  am  going  home  in  a  cab 
and  shall  not  need  my  cloak.  You  must  take  it." 

"  No,  no,"  Annie  Zondish  cried,  drawing  away,  "  I 
cannot  do  that." 

"  Yes,  from  one  sister  to  another;  and  you  don't  know 
how  sweetly  I  shall  sleep  if  you  will  do  me  this  favor ; 
and  when  you  come  we  will  laugh  over  this  night,  but 


THE  POWER  THAT  MOVES  THE  WORLD    401 

tenderly,  because  now  is  sealed  our  vow  to  do  good ;  and 
we  shall  hear  music  where  there  were  only  sighs,  and  in 
windows  where  black  rags  fluttered  bright  flowers  shall 
bloom." 

And  old  Calvin's  daughter  took  off  her  cloak,  and 
about  the  woman's  drooping  shoulders  she  wrapped  it, 
laughing  her  joy  and  her  sympathy. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 
HIS  ELDER  SISTER 

When  Howerson  returned  he  found  Rose  alone,  dream 
ily  gazing,  not  upon  the  battlement  and  the  war 
ring  bowmen,  but  upon  another  scene  penciled  by  a 
kindlier  fancy,  a  troop  of  happy  children,  playing.  He 
had  been  longer  than  he  expected,  he  said,  and  hoped 
that  she  had  not  grown  impatient.  His  real  hope  was 
that  she  had  found  the  time  of  his  absence  long  and 
wearisome,  and  his  heart  landed  him  a  heavy  blow  when 
with  the  smile  of  truth  she  declared  that  she  had  never 
spent  a  season  of  purer  happiness. 

"  The  taxi  is  waiting.    But  where  is  your  cloak?  " 

"  Oh,  did  I  have  a  cloak?  " 

"  Why,  I  thought  so.     What  became  of  it?  " 

"  Someone  must  have  taken  it  away,"  she  laughed. 
"  But  no  matter.  I  shall  not  need  it." 

"  But  who  could  have  taken  it?  " 

"  You  can't  explain  your  mystery  and  I  can't  explain 
mine,"  she  said,  enjoying  his  perplexity. 

"  A  punishment,  and  after  you  had  agreed  to  wait?  " 
He  looked  distressed. 

"  Let  us  call  it  a  joke,  and  forget  it.  .  .  I  am 
going." 

"  Not  without  some  protection  from  the  weather,"  he 
declared,  and  begging  her  to  wait  he  hastened  into  the 
bedroom  and  brought  forth  his  overcoat,  and  in  it  envel 
oped  her  as  she  stood,  humorously  submitting  to  his  will. 
His  hand  was  stricken  with  palsy  as  he  strove  to  gather 

402 


HIS  ELDER  SISTER  403 

her  loosened  hair  from  beneath  the  collar,  and  when  she 
turned  slightly  about  to  make  fun  of  his  awkwardness 
he  was  in  the  act  of  branding  her  tresses  with  a  kiss,  the 
thief;  but  she  pretended  not  to  know  it,  deceitful  crea 
ture  ;  and  down  the  stairs  they  went,  both  talking  at  once, 
neither  catching  a  word.  The  big  eyes  of  the  taxi  bored 
the  rain-streaked  air,  and  all  else  was  dark,  in  the  wet 
patter. 

"  Your  coat,"  she  said,  handing  it  out  to  him,  and 
with  it  feeling  for  him  in  the  dark. 

"  No,  no,  you'll  need  it,"  and  she  laughed  gleefully 
and  told  him  that  it  would  be  easier  to  explain  the 
absence  of  a  cloak  than  the  presence  of  a  coat.  "  Take 
it,  please,"  and  he  took  it,  and  with  it  moped  up  the 
stairs.  He  called  himself  a  fool,  proved  it  by  his  soul, 
ready  enough  to  give  testimony,  and  sat  down  looking 
about  the  room,  darksome  now  with  all  the  lights  turned 
on.  Out  of  dull  objects  his  eyes  plucked  the  sword,  lying 
in  a  corner,  and  he  took  it  up  and  stood  with  it  in  his 
hand.  He  saw  the  vision  of  cutthroat  men,  and  was 
thrilled  as  again  he  saw  frightened  countenances  falling 
back  from  his  circle  of  fire,  but  another  countenance 
arose,  that  of  Zondish,  and  he  felt  a  tingle  of  shame, 
forgetting  the  murderous  men,  to  realize  that  with  a 
sword  he  had  rushed  upon  a  woman.  Thinking  it 
all  over,  it  seemed,  and  how  strange,  that  the  woman 
in  her  sudden  fright  had  cast  toward  him  a  look  more 
of  appeal  than  of  hate ;  and  over  that  he  brooded  for  a 
long  time.  Then  on  the  wall  he  replaced  the  old  sword, 
put  on  his  overcoat  and  went  down  into  the  street.  Walk 
ing  fast  he  crossed  a  bridge,  searching  for  some  place 
the  number  of  which  he  did  not  know,  for  he  looked  not 
for  figures  above  doorways  but  at  the  shapes  of  grimy 
old  buildings,  forbidding  enough  in  daylight  but  now 


404  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

gruesome  and  ghostly.  At  a  narrow  stairway  he  halted, 
entered  upon  it,  felt  his  way  up  one  flight,  struck  a 
match,  hastened  down  a  hall,  struck  another  match  and 
blew  it  out  as  he  stood  in  front  of  a  narrow  door.  Upon 
the  door  he  knocked,  and  a  voice  that  came  like  a  moan 
bade  him  come  in.  He  entered,  and  in  front  of  a  fire  made 
of  a  box  knocked  to  pieces,  hovering  over  it  with  her 
face  in  her  hands,  sat  Annie  Zondish.  She  did  not  look 
up,  but  she  said,  "  I  am  ready  to  go  with  you  to  jail, 
and  I  left  the  door  unlocked  so  you  could  come  in.  Let 
me  think  just  a  moment  longer  and  then  I  will  go  with 
you." 

"  Annie." 

She  looked  up.  She  rose.  She  gazed  in  mute  aston 
ishment. 

"  Annie,  I  have  come  to  beg  you  to  forgive  me.  You 
dragged  me  back  from  death.  Like  a  tender  mother 
you  cared  for  me.  And  to-night  with  a  sword  I  turned 
upon  you.  I  violated  my  oath,  for  I  would  have  died 
rather  than  to  keep  it.  Those  who  knew  men's  souls 
said  that  we  may  be  born  again  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye.  Thus  it  was  that  I  was  changed.  But  I  am  here 
before  you  now  and  I  have  no  sword." 

Her  hands  went  up  and  he  thought  that  she  was  going 
to  strike  him  and  he  shut  his  eyes  and  stood  motionless. 
"When  he  looked,  her  hands  were  pressed  to  her  face,  and 
between  her  fingers,  tear-streams  caught  the  light.  Word 
less,  he  stared  his  astonishment,  and  then  he  turned  away, 
to  bend  his  look  upon  the  crackling  fire,  wondering  at 
this  new  mystery  in  a  night  of  mysteries. 

"  George." 

He  turned  about  and  she  held  forth  her  hand.  With 
out  a  word  he  drew  her  toward  the  fire,  and  they  sat 
down,  she  on  a  low  chair,  he  on  a  box.  He  took  her 


HIS  ELDER  SISTER  405 

hand,  silent,  and  upon  her  palm,  wet  with  her  weeping, 
he  pressed  a  roll  of  bank  notes  and  closed  her  fingers. 
She  strove  to  pull  her  hand  away,  with  what  would  have 
been  an  outcry  but  for  its  huskiness,  but  he  held  her 
wrist  hard,  pressing  down  her  fingers  tight;  and  then 
slowly  he  spoke : 

' '  I  have  seen  you  give  not  half  a  loaf,  but  all.  .  .  . 
I  heard  you  sing  a  childhood  song  to  an  old  Polish  Jew 
who  prayed  that  he  might  die  with  the  melodies  of  his 
mother  in  his  soul." 

Against  his  arm  she  leaned  her  weary  head,  and  lightly 
now  her  hand  lay  within  his  tender  clasp.  She  did  not 
try  to  draw  it  from  him.  "  To-morrow  I  am  going 
away,  to  be  gone  several  months,  perhaps.  And  when 
I  come  back,  I  am  going  to  confess.  A  dream  into  which 
beautiful  visions  sometimes  arose,  will  end;  but  money 
will  come  to  me  out  of  that  dream,  and  I  am  going  to 
share  it  with  you,  money  honestly  earned.  We  will  go 
among  the  stricken  in  body  and  in  heart.  We  will 
atone." 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"  You  are  to  be  —  you  are  my  sister." 

Pie  felt  her  head  shake  on  his  arm.  "  Your  mother, 
George.  I  am  old." 

He  laughed  softly.  "  Oh,  no,  you  have  the  strength, 
the  color,  the  looks  and  the  black  hair  of  your  prime. 
You  are  my  elder  sister.  The  younger,  poor  wayward 
genius,  sleeps  in  India."  He  fell  into  silence,  brood 
ing,  and  then  burst  out:  "  Ha,  but  let  us  be  cheerful. 
The  drama—  " 

She  clutched  hig  arm.  "  It  was  glorious,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  seen  Salvini,  Booth,  but  nothing  like  that. 
There  will  never  again  be  acting  like  it.  Down  flew  the 
sword  from  the  wall,  and —  " 


406  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  It  was  only  a  desperation." 

"  Only!  And  is  not  that  what  great  dramatic  art 
has  tried  in  vain  to  be  ?  .  .  .  What  a  night !  ' ' 

He  got  up,  she  with  him,  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  I 
will  find  you  when  I  come  back.  Good  night.  I  —  " 
and  then  he  stood  cut  off  from  speech,  gazing.  On  a 
trunk  against  the  wall  lay  Rose  Whateley's  cloak. 

He  looked  into  the  woman's  eyes,  standing  back  from 
him,  and  with  head  not  in  humiliation  bowed,  she  said: 
"  Yes,  it  is  her  cloak.  She  compelled  me  to  take  it.  I 
couldn't  resist  her.  I  thought  that  there  must  have 
been  some  sort  of  trickery,  and  as  the  other  cowards 
were  running  over  each  other  down  the  street,  I  stole 
back,  and  there  she  stood.  I  knew  who  she  was,  but 
pretended  not  to.  If  she  had  started  in  at  first  with 
soft  words  I  would  have  hardened  against  her,  but  she 
didn  't.  I  don 't  know  what  she  said,  but  I  felt  the  balm 
of  her  presence,  George ;  felt  that  this  beautiful  creature 
of  health  and  strength  and  grace  wanted  to  be  my  friend, 
my  sister.  Yes,  I  heard  her  say  it;  and  then  her  arm 
was  about  me  and  —  there  lies  her  cloak.  ...  I 
have  always  had  my  soft  moods.  Often  when  they 
thought  I  was  sneaking  about  with  a  dagger,  I  was  in  my 
room  heartbroken  because  I  had  just  looked  upon  dis 
tress  that  I  was  not  able  to  relieve.  But  now  it  seems 
that  my  vengeance  mood  has  gone  from  me  to  stay.  I 
tried  to  call  it  back  as  I  sat  here  alone,  but  it  would 
not  come  and  I  know  that  it  will  not  come  again.  I  am 
getting  old,  George." 

"  You  are  young  and  beautiful,  your  soul;  and  down 
the  leafy  road,  at  the  turn  where  wild  roses  glow  upon 
the  bank,  sly-eyed  happiness,  a  boy  with  fingers  stained 
with  berry  juice,  peeps  out  to  leap  forth  with  a  shout 
and  give  you  joyous  chase." 


HIS  ELDER  SISTER  407 

She  smiled  sadly,  taking  his  hand  to  bid  him  good-bye. 

' '  Good  night,  sister. ' ' 

She  bent  toward  him  and  reverently  on  the  brow  he 
kissed  her ;  and  he  left  her  standing  there  in  the  twilight 
of  the  fire.  Now  swiftly  back  to  his  room  he  went, 
muttering,  ' '  What  a  night !  In  this  grim  commonplace 
of  greed,  what  a  night !  ' ' 

Out  he  came  on  the  morrow,  into  the  flashing  pearl  of 
the  sun's  first  wink  of  morn,  the  fading  stars  seeming 
to  drip  with  the  cool  rams  of  the  night. 

In  the  station  Joyce  was  waiting  for  him.  "  "What, 
dawn-hawk,  are  you  here?  "  Howerson  cried,  grasping 
his  friend  as  if  a  year  had  droned  between  the  evening 
and  the  day. 

"  Of  course.  Where  did  you  think  I'd  be?  By  the 
way,  I  rushed  through  with  my  work,  and  about  eleven 
last  night  hustled  over  to  your  cave,  and  found  it  dark. 
I  hammered  on  the  door,  and  heard  rats  scampering, 
but  no  other  evidence  of  life;  and  so  I  came  away." 

' '  I  should  hope  so.  But  why  the  deuce  did  you  come 
out  so  early  this  morning?  There  was  no  need  of  it." 

"  That's  my  business.  Say,  but  you  look  fine  this 
morning,  old  fellow;  like  a  winner.  You  used  to  look 
every  once  in  a  while  as  if  you  expected  bad  news  in 
the  next  mail;  but  now  the  news  seems  to  have  been 
good.  How  about  it?  " 

"  Wasn't  bad.  At  any  rate  it  didn't  announce  bank 
ruptcy.  ' ' 

"  Good  old  dame  after  all,  George  —  the  world." 

"  Yes,  cracks  you  on  the  head  with  her  crutch,  and 
if  you  smile,  she  anoints  the  wound." 

' '  Maybe  if  we  laugh  she  won 't  hit  us  at  all. ' '  Shaking 
hands  as  Howerson 's  train  was  called  out,  they  laughed 
and  parted. 


408  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Following  his  instructions,  Howerson  got  off  at  Hoop- 
good,  spent  a  day  in  the  coal  mines,  telegraphed  a 
favorable  report,  wired  a  message  to  Yal  Watkins  and 
resumed  his  way  toward  the  West.  On  the  platform 
at  Rockdale,  there  amid  the  excitement  of  the  one  great 
thrill  of  the  day,  the  handling  of  three  mail  sacks,  the 
cries  of  the  bus  driver,  the  rush  of  the  telegrapher 
to  speed  onward  the  news  that  the  train  had  arrived; 
there  amid  the  heart  tremors  of  girls  stolen  from  home 
to  view  this  halted  plunge  from  the  world  of  dreams 
whence  one  day  would  come  romance  with  lovelight  in 
eye  and  diamond  in  shirt;  there  where  the  corpse  of 
the  old  man  was  shoved  into  the  car  to  be  baggaged  away 
to  a  distant  grave;  there  in  the  steam  and  the  smoke 
blown  back  from  the  stewing  engine;  there  in  the  last 
glimmerings  of  the  day,  was  Col.  Watkins,  most  impor 
tant  man  in  town.  Tripping  over  a  leash  wherewith  a 
boy  reined  in  his  cat-excited  dog,  Watkins  reached  the 
Poet. 

"  Help  me,  George,  to  hold  my  dignity  unruffled  till 
we  get  away  from  this  crowd." 

"  Dignity!  Where  did  you  ever  find  it?  Our  car 
riage  of  the  Old  Regime,  Colonel,  does  it  await?  " 

"  Ah,  verily,  not  like  the  fretful  but  the  dozing  porcu 
pine.  This  way  to  the  Tuilleries. ' '  Off  they  darted  for 
the  hack,  Watkins  grabbing  at  Howerson 's  ' '  grip. ' '  The 
old  busman  ambled  forward  and  took  the  suit  case, 
shoved  it  up,  raking  its  yellow  hide  with  the  head  of  a 
nail,  and  then  announced  the  promise  of  a  swift  depar 
ture  by  calling  "  Fare  please."  Ready  enough  came 
forth  coin  from  pockets  of  passengers  eager  to  proceed, 
but  progress  was  balked  by  a  fat  madam  with  an  Angora 
cat  in  a  cage  big  enough  for  a  leopard.  Couldn't  find 
her  purse,  couldn't  have  lost  it,  never  did  such  a  thing, 


HIS  ELDER  SISTER  409 

preposterous.  Cat  reaches  out  to  pluck  souvenir  of 
fleece  from  a  woolly  poodle,  innocently  musing  in  the 
lap  of  Miss  Tabitha  —  row.  Fat  madam  admonishes 
Angora  to  be  more  choice  in  selection  of  associates,  but 
can't  find  purse. 

"  How  late  do  they  have  supper?  "  a  hungry  wretch 
inquires  of  the  universe  at  large;  and  fat  madam 
answers,  ' '  It  makes  no  difference  how  late  or  how  early, 
I'm  going  to  find  my  purse."  Wretch  says,  "  I  hope 
so."  Angora  makes  another  motion  and  the  poodle 
howls,  whereupon  Miss  Tabitha  gives  it  a  tender  coddle, 
wondering  why  the  woman  over  in  the  corner  doesn't 
keep  her  brat  from  squawling.  "  I  know  I  had  that 
purse,"  fat  madam  declares,  and  an  old  sinner  man 
mutters,  "  Bet  you  did." 

' '  Go  on !  "  someone  cries. 

But  the  busman  shakes  his  head.  "  My  orders  are 
to  collect  fare  before  turning  a  wheel." 

Then  Col.  Watkins  says,  "  Drive  on,"  and  without  a 
word  he  mounts  his  perch  and  drives,  passengers,  cat 
and  dog  looking  with  gratitude  upon  the  most  impor 
tant  man  in  town. 

Suddenly  fat  madam  cries  out,  "  Stop,  stop,  I  say! 
I  have  found  it." 

"Onward!  "  shouts  the  colonel,  and  up  to  the  hotel 
they  rattle,  everybody  laughing. 

After  supper  the  two  friends  shut  themselves  up  in 
Howerson's  room,  to  throw  off  their  dignity,  they  said. 
"  When  it  comes  to  characters,"  remarked  the  colonel, 
"  we've  got  'em  here.  You  know  they  skipped  thrifty 
Iowa  and  came  here  where  they  could  be  shiftless  with 
out  reproach.  These  were  mostly  poor  whites  from  the 
South,  afraid  of  nothing  on  earth  except  work.  Why, 
they'd  laugh  at  a  gun,  when  a  hoe  would  scare  'em  to 


410  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

death.  But  we've  got  all  sorts  here.  Some  I  want  you 
to  meet,  particularly  a  shrewd  old  Jew  who  swears  he 
made  fifty  thousand  dollars  playing  poker  and  lost  it 
all  in  the  clothing  business;  but  more  particularly  I 
want  you  to  know  Father  Ben,  an  old  Belgian  priest. 
He  and  I  are  great  friends ;  we  sit  and  talk  some  nights 
till  twelve.  But  tell  me  why  you  are  here,  and  then  I'll 
make  a  confession,  my  talk  about  Father  Ben  having  led 
up  to  the  same." 

"  I  am  here,  Colonel,  to  cheat  the  few  for  the  good 
of  the  many."  Then  he  explained  the  project.  "  And 
now  your  confession." 

With  a  loud  crack  the  hip  of  the  Colonel's  rocking 
chair  flew  out  of  joint.  He  got  up,  set  the  bone,  sat 
down  with  care  and  was  about  to  begin  his  recital  when 
Howerson  said,  in  allusion  to  the  recent  feat  of  surgery, 
"  If  you  need  any  lint,  Doctor,  I'll  scrape  my  shirt." 

"  Ha,"  retorted  the  anatomist,  rocking  carefully,  "  I 
know  that  in  the  interest  of  science  you  would  not  only 
contribute  the  lint  from  your  shirt  but  the  nap  from 
your  overcoat,  but  my  dear  patron  of  arts  I  object  to 
being  called  '  Doctor.'  When  you  were  here  the  first 
time  somebody  heard  you  call  me  Colonel  Watkins  and 
in  that  title  I  am  established  and,  as  you  may  have 
observed,  influential.  Out  here  there  are  two  sorts  of 
doctors,  man  and  horse,  both  saluted  as  '  Doc.'  And 
that  reminds  me  of  an  incident.  There  came  from  the 
state  university  the  boss  L.L.D.  of  the  shop,  to  address 
the  high  school  here,  and  one  of  our  staunch  citizens 
hearing  him  called  '  Doctor,'  asked  him  if  he  were  a 
horse  or  just  a  man  doctor ;  and  you  may  know  the  starch 
of  the  great  man  had  suffered  when  he  answered,  '  Sir, 
I  am  a  Doctor  of  Laws.' 

"  The  staunch  one  pricked  up  his  ears  like  a  livery 


HIS  ELDER  SISTER  411 

stable  bulldog.  ;  That  so?  I  knowed  the  law  was 
damn  sick  but  I  didn't  know  they'd  called  in  a  doctor.' 
There  are  numerous  '  docs  '  here,  but  I'm  the  only 
colonel,  as  my  rival  was  shipped  off  in  a  baggage  car 
this  evening.  Grasp?  " 

"  Yea,  Colonel,  and  I  beseech  pardon  for  my  slip, 
but  '  impart,'  said  the  Dane." 

"  You  may  not  play-act  when  I  get  down  into  it," 
said  Watkins;  and  then  for  a  brief  silence  he  was 
serious  as  if  an  unhappy  memory  were  passing  through 
his  mind.  But  he  brightened. 

"  List  thee.  One  night  about  two  weeks  ago,  after 
a  day  of  worries  to  me  and  to  my  well-earned  military 
title,  I  went  into  our  '  Gentlemen's  Cafe,'  sat  down  at 
the  large  square  table,  shoved  from  in  front  of  me  the 
pickles  eaten  by  acid  till  they  looked  like  the  prohibi 
tionist's  diagram  of  a  drunkard's  maw,  greeted  the 
widowed  celery,  sighed  over  a  bowl  of  tear-stained  crack 
ers,  wondering  what  I  could  eat,  when  I  noticed  by  the 
spread  of  a  napkin,  the  positions  of  knife,  fork  and 
plate,  that  the  place  just  in  front  of  me  was  taken. 

"  About  this  time  in  came  a  big  Scotchman  who  in 
broad  tweed  said  to  the  waiter  that  he  would  have  it 
now,  evidently  his  meal,  ordered  some  time  before.  The 
waiter  brought  in  a  beefsteak  about  the  size  of  an  ele 
phant's  ear,  and  placed  it  before  him.  Then  from  a  cool 
chest  he  got  out  two  pint-bottles  of  old  ale.  These  he 
uncorked  and  into  a  big  pewter  mug  poured  the  foamy 
garner  of  both  bottles,  filling  the  mug,  and  the  beads 
burst  like  the  glad  laughter  of  youth.  All  that  I  had 
ever  read  of  the  old  inn,  with  dovecote,  spreading  tree 
genial  landlord  —  all  the  poetry  and  romance  I  had 
ever  read  or  heard  my  bookish  old  father  talk  about,  and 
he  was  an  English  actor  —  all  came  back  to  me.  This 


412  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

tantalizing  Scot  busied  himself  with  the  steak,  and  I 
sat  there  breathing  beneath  my  belt,  '  Why  the  devil 
don't  you  drink?'  But  when  he  had  eaten  about  a 
third  of  his  meat,  and  when  I  had  waved  aside  my  own 
object  in  coming  into  the  place,  he  took  up  that  pewter 
loving  cup  with  both  hands  and  —  and  fetched  a  pull 
such  as  Martin  Luther  would  have  envied;  and  he  put 
it  down  with  an  '  Ah-ha-ha,'  right  at  me,  and  the  cling 
ing  beads  were  bursting  on  his  red  lips.  Right  there  I 
slipped,  George.  I  —  " 

"  Yal!  " 

' '  Slipped  and  grabbed  about  me  to  keep  from  falling, 
and  couldn't  lay  hold.  But  at  this  moment  down  came 
a  grip  on  my  shoulder.  I  looked  up  and  there  stood  old 
Father  Ben,  the  priest.  *  Walk  out  with  me, '  he  said ; 
and  I  went  out  with  him,  drooling  like  a  horse  grazing 
on  white  clover.  I  had  given  the  old  man  my  history, 
George,  and  he  knew  that  you  had  picked  me  up  after 
I  'd  been,  down  so  long.  As  we  walked  he  said,  '  My  boy, 
there  are  some  of  them  that  can  do  it,  and  there  are  some 
of  us  that  cannot.'  He  didn't  lecture  me,  just  reminded 
me  of  a  truth  that  I  knew  so  well.  Then  I  went  back 
alone,  and  a  thousand  pewter  mugs  couldn't  have  made 
the  ground  slippery  for  me.  That  was  my  last 
temptation. ' ' 

Howerson  had  been  alarmed,  but  now  he  smiled.  ' '  You 
are  all  right,  and  you  may  well  believe,  as  I  do,  that  it 
was  your  last  temptation.  Let  me  tell  you,  my  dear 
Colonel—" 

The  colonel  bowed. 

' '  Let  me  tell  you  that  if  it  had  not  meant  sure  down 
fall  of  your  prosperity  and  hence  your  respectability, 
all  the  advice  and  moral  lecturing  in  homily 's  inexhaust- 


HIS  ELDER  SISTER  413 

ible  storehouse  couldn't  have  kept  ale  beads  from  burst 
ing  on  your  lips  that  night.  I  know  you,  Colonel." 

"  Ah,  as  the  devil  knows  a  handbook." 

"  And  mind  you,  I  don't  mean  to  detract  from  old 
Father  Ben.  He  saved  you  for  the  moment,  but  for 
your  own  strength  old  Father  Time  instead  of  Father 
Ben  would  just  about  have  had  you  by  now.  But  the 
priest,  how  well  he  knows  the  weakness  of  '  mortal 
mind,'  as  Mrs.  Eddy  calls  it.  He  is  the  indulgent 
elder  brother  of  the  wayward ;  and  there  is  a  reason  why 
he  should  know  more  of  human  nature  than  the  average 
preacher  can  possibly  know." 

' '  Beats  him  to  it, ' '  said  the  colonel. 

"  Yes,  in  a  walk.  Catholics  take  their  shortcomings  to 
the  priest,  but  from  the  preacher  we  hide  our  foibles." 

"  Right,  George,  and  it's  because  the  preacher  lives 
apart  from  men." 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Howerson.  ' '  Watch  a  party  of  men  talk 
ing,  joking,  laughing.  Preacher  comes  up;  subject 
changed,  sissified  out  of  hypocritical  deference  to  the 
preacher's  cloth." 

' '  Duly  acknowledged.  .  .  .  Well,  how 's  the 
drama?  " 

Howerson  settled  back  in  his  chair  as  if  at  last  he  had 
surrendered  to  the  encroachment  of  a  mood  which  with 
forced  gayety  he  had  vainly  fought. 

' '  The  love  interest, ' '  Watkins  persisted. 

"  A  kindly  and  unconscious  mockery,  I'm  afraid.  Yal, 
woman  has  progressed  until  she  can  step  out  of  romance 
into  friendship.  They  have  schooled  and  suffragetted 
her  until  she  is  a  companion  instead  of  a  sweetheart. 
But  our  drama  demands  old-fashioned  love." 

"  Got  it,  hasn't  it?  "  the  colonel  inquired. 


414  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  On  one  side,  yes." 

' '  Well,  that 's  as  it  should  be  to  sustain  interest  among 
those  who  insist  upon  love's  speculative  misery,  and 
which  I  think  is  quite  as  essential  as  —  I'm  balled  up. 
Toss  me  a  line." 

' '  Quite  as  essential  as  love 's  reciprocal  joy  —  I  under 
stand.  But  coming  to  the  Hecuba  of  sad  truth,  I  am 
gaffed  past  floundering  while  in  violet  waters  she  plays 
unhooked. ' ' 

"I'm  not  on  the  ground,  but  I  have  a  notion  that 
she  is  waiting  for  you  to  overpower  her  with  your 
strength.  Inheriting  much  of  the  old  man's  character, 
she  is  fighting  you,  which  is  herself,  in  this  instance, 
and—" 

"  But  the  old  man  never  surrenders,  Yal. " 

"  Ah,  but  he'd  acknowledge  it  if  you  knocked  him 
down,  wouldn't  he?  When  did  you  see  her  last?  Tell 
me  about  it." 

Without  infringing  upon  his  determination  to  make 
his  first  confession  to  Whateley,  alone,  Howerson  per 
mitted  a  vaporous  vision  to  gather  itself  into  the  dew 
of  words:  "  And  there  I  stood,  agued  in  an  ecstasy, 
with  the  gnarled  gold  of  her  tresses  in  my  hand,  this 
hand  that  does  not  look  as  if  once  it  had  held  the 
universe,  and  when  I  would  have  kissed —  " 

"  I  see,  you  fell  down,"  said  the  colonel.  "  You 
wanted  to  kiss  her  hair,  and  your  knees  knocked  you 
out.  You  thought  she  wouldn't  like  it,  but  at  that 
moment,  George,  she  would  have  been  mightily  tickled. 
In  one  of  the  intense  minutes  to  be  ticked  off  in  the 
future,  she'll  forget  her  own  strength  and  rejoice  in 
yours." 

"  Let's  go  to  bed." 

There  in  the  dark,  the  glimpse  of  a  star  revealed  by 


HIS  ELDEK  SISTER  415 

the  gaping  of  a  window  shade,  there  with  the  frail  house 
shaking  in  a  wind  that  blew  not  thunder  from  the  west 
but  breaths  of  coming  summer  from  the  south,  Howerson 
lay  wondering  if  shrewd  old  Yal  were  right,  that  she 
would  have  liked  it  had  he  kissed  her  hair. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 
WORKING  HIS  SCHEME 

On  the  following  day  Howerson  began  operations 
which  were  active  enough  but  which,  reviewed  at  night, 
appeared  to  have  been  aimless  and  without  accomplish 
ment.  All  the  arts  and  devices  which  in  past  "  pro 
motion  "  he  had  stumbled  upon,  now  needed  to  be 
resharpened  and  redecorated  like  the  feathered  troll 
designed  for  waters  whipped  foamy  by  persistent  fishers. 
And  as  the  days  filled  out  the  first  week  the  promoter 
may  not  have  been  able  to  specify  progress,  but  knew 
that  it  had  been  made.  Acquaintance  with  the  ground, 
organization  and  the  systematizing  of  schemes,  moved 
forward  his  campaign ;  and  by  the  time  the  second  week 
drew  to  a  close,  he  had  acquired  signatures  from  pens 
doggedly  suspicious,,  but  which  yielded  finally  under 
the  moral  spell  of  the  farmer's  ancient  tempter, 
cupidity. 

The  influence  of  Watkins  was  of  great  and  imme 
diate  advantage,  and  his  active  shaking  of  the  branch 
brought  down  the  fruit,  red  and  yellow,  on  the  ground. 
On  brief  notice  he  could  appear  as  innocent  a  lout  as 
ever  gulped  the  delights  of  a  brass  band  or  gazed  in 
awe  upon  a  camel's  hump.  He  now  took  up  gladly 
as  his  mission  the  conversion  of  the  smaller  land  owner, 
while  the  Poet  spread  his  own  endeavors  among  the 
larger  fry,  housed  with  them  over  Sunday,  gave  rhymes 
to  maids,  talked  sanctity  of  marriage  to  matrons,  and 

416 


WORKING  HIS  SCHEME  417 

permitted  the  booted  "  Hector,  tamer  of  horses,"  to 
beat  him  in  religious  argument.  In  village  halls  he 
addressed  meetings;  at  a  "  sociable  "  he  auctioned  off 
a  pair  of  blue  socks  adorned  with  red  heels,  the  devo 
tional  product  of  a  dame  from  whose  tongue,  sweetly 
bred  to  scandal,  no  handsome  girl  was  safe;  and  in  a 
barn  he  umpired  a  cock-fight. 

In  his  room  at  the  hotel  he  laughed  with  the  colonel 
and  called  himself  the  most  scoundrelly  chameleon  that 
ever  changed  its  hue.  Often  at  night  they  had  com 
pany,  Father  Ben,  the  priest,  and  Gus  Wormsier,  the 
Jew  who  in  the  clothing  business  had  lost  fifty  thousand 
dollars  hard-earned  at  poker.  Father  Ben's  soul  was 
as  rare  as  a  June  bird  singing  on  December's  crest. 
He  had  turned  sixty,  but  his  heart  was  a  warm 
melody,  chanting  him  to  his  work;  and  his  great 
dark  eyes  were  soft,  as  if  holding  in  endearment  the 
picture  of  many  a  tender  scene.  But  Watkins  said 
that  justice  sometimes  roused  him  to  acts  of  quick  chas 
tisement,  and  this  may  have  been  true,  but  surely  when 
he  knocked  two  rebellious  heads  together  he  did  it  to 
save  the  breaking  of  a  hundred  bones. 

"Wormsier  was  of  a  Hebrew  family  from  the  old 
South,  and  would  speak  of  Yankees  as  if  he  had  never 
turned  a  trick  himself.  He  would  not  have  made  an 
acceptable  vaudeville  Jew,  with  "  sure  "  and  "belief 
me."  He  knew  no  gallery  Yiddish,  but  his  mind  was  as 
acutely  Hebraic  as  if,  expelled  from  Spain  along  with 
eight  hundred  thousand  others  of  his  race,  he  had  writ 
ten  that  history-noted  letter  from  Portugal  to  a  friend 
left  behind:  "  The  climate  is  good,  the  people  idiots, 
and  we  shall  soon  own  everything." 

Nothing  seemed  to  afford  Wormsier  so  keen  an  enjoy 
ment  as  an  argument  with  Father  Ben,  into  which  the 


418  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

old  man  sometimes  humorously  but  never  in  seriousness 
suffered  himself  to  be  drawn. 

"  The  intellectual  trouble  with  the  Jew,"  said  Father 
Ben  one  evening,  "  is  that  he  regards  himself  as  the 
history  of  the  world ;  and  his  religious  belief  is  that  suc 
cess  is  sufficient  atonement  for  everything." 

"  No,"  declared  Wormsier.  "  We  take  back  the 
goods,  and  what  more  atonement  can  you  ask  for?  " 

"  That  is  well  enough  for  the  evil  actually  committed, 
but  you  have  no  atonement  for  intended  evil,  and  that 
is  nearer  to  the  purification  of  the  soul.  Did  you  ever 
confess  an  intended  evil?  " 

Howerson  was  listening  intently.  He  thought  that 
Yal  was  about  to  speak,  and  with  his  hand  laid  upon 
the  colonel's  knee  he  whispered,  "  Hush." 

"  Don't  know  that  I  understand  what  you  mean  by 
intended  evil,"  Wormsier  replied.  "  But  I'll  tell  you 
this:  If  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  sell  a  man  a  coat 
for  ten  dollars  and  saw  by  his  face  I  could  get  twelve, 
and  I  got  it,  do  you  think  I  would  tell  him  he  might 
have  had  it  for  ten  ?  Not  me.  And  suppose  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  punch  a  wreak-looking  fellow  in  the  nose, 
but  saw  him  lick  two  men  as  big  as  I  am,  do  you  think 
I  would  go  to  him  and  say,  '  Forgive  me,  I  was  going 
to  punch  your  nose?  '  Not  me.  But  wait  a  minute. 
You  spoke  about  the  Jew  and  history.  Why,  all  the 
religion  you've  got  you  stole  from  the  Jews,  except 
purgatory. ' ' 

Father  Ben  sat  in  a  big  chair,  rocking,  enjoying  his 
cigar.  "  All  but  purgatory.  But  say  that  we  are  willing 
to  make  atonement,  Gus.  Say  that  we  keep  purgatory 
and  give  the  Jews  the  station  farther  south." 

"  Ha,"  cried  Wormsier,  "  we  could  trust  you  to  give 
the  Jews  the  worst  of  it.  Atonement!  How  can  we 


WORKING  HIS  SCHEME 

atone  for  an  intention?  By  confession  to  the  one  we 
intended  to  injure  ?  Imagine  our  friend  Howerson  here 
making  a  confession  like  that." 

"  He  would,  I  am  sure,"  said  Father  Ben.  "  Sup- 
po'se  that  if  by  any  possibility  he  had  been  wrought  upon 
until  there  was  murder  in  his  heart,  do  you  think  his 
heart  could  ever  be  pure  again  unless  he  confessed  it? 
And  that,  too,  before  he  had,  by  some  good  and  repentant 
turn,  laid  his  intended  victim  under  such  obligation  as 
would  seem  to  insure  forgiveness.  Do  you  believe  he 
would  smother  his  confession?  " 

"  No!  "  came  from  Howerson  in  utterance  almost  a 
cry,  and  then  he  turned  it  into  a  laugh.  "  Of  course 
not.  By  the  way,  Father,  over  in  the  Spring  Valley 
neighborhood  the  majority  of  the  land  owners  are  com 
municants  of  your  church,  and  I  wish  you  could  see 
your  way  clear  toward  helping  me  there." 

"  I  can  if  you  prove  to  me  that  by  so  doing  I  shall 
serve  their  interest  as  well  as  yours." 

"  I  can  do  that.  The  road  will  increase  land  values 
from  ten  to  fifteen  percent." 

"  Wait,"  cried  Wormsier.  "  Wait  a  day  or  two, 
Father,  till  I  go  over  there  and  get  a  few  options.  Wait. ' ' 

Then  the  colonel  spoke  up.  ' '  And  if  we  wait  till  you 
have  had  a  few  more  business  failures,  Gus,  you  can  not 
only  put  up  money  for  options  on  land  but  buy  the 
entire  road  for  cash." 

Father  Ben  roared  out  an  appreciation  in  which  there 
was  no  malice,  and  with  a  genial  grin  Gus  ducked  his 
head.  A  clock  began  to  strike,  Wormsier  counting. 
"  What's  that?  Nine?  Eight  now  I  go  to  a  christen 
ing,  my  friend  Stramm,  Lutheran,  sausages  and  beer. 
Good  night." 

Father  Ben  soon  took  his  leave,  and  Howerson  went 


420  THE  NEW  MR  HOWERSON 

with  him,  walking  with  him  out  beneath  the  stars.  When 
they  had  come  to  a  corner  of  a  street  near  the  old  man 's 
home,  the  dark  spire  of  his  church  catching  with  its 
gilded  cross  a  beam  from  pagan  Venus,  the  Poet  halted. 

"  Won't  you  come  in  and  stop  a  while,  Mr.  Hower- 
son?  I  have  some  old  books  that  I  have  not  yet  shown 
you,  some  rare  and  curious  pages,  executed  by  Philip 
Pigouchet  in  1487.  Come  in." 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  not  to-night."  Yet  he  lingered, 
gazing  upward  at  the  pagan  light  glinting  the  cross. 
.  .  .  "  Father,  I  have  often  wondered  if  priests,  so 
intimate  with  the  weaknesses  and  the  misfortunes  of 
man  —  "he  hesitated. 

"  Yes,  my  son." 

"  I  have  often  wondered  if  they  did  not  believe  that 
upon  the  conscience  of  the  Protestant,  the  man  of  the 
world,  there  did  not  lie  a  canker,  a  something  that  a 
Catholic  would  confess  to  his  priest." 

"  We  are  supposed  to  confess  everything." 

"  I  know.  But  you  spoke  of  atonement  for  an  evil 
not  committed.  Doesn't  the  priest  believe  that  every 
Protestant  man  lives  and  perhaps  dies  with  such  an  evil 
in  his  heart?  " 

"  My  son,  we  are  not  that  narrow.  Every  good  Prot 
estant  must  confess  to  God." 

"  Yes,  but  God  already  knows,  and  confession  to  one 
who  knows  requires  no  courage.  Don't  misunderstand 
me.  I  am  not  worried  over  my  soul.  But  I  may  worry 
over  a  sense  of  weakness  on  my  part.  I  am  talking  to 
you  the  man  and  not  the  priest. ' ' 

"  But  would  you  have  brought  up  this  subject  if  I 
had  not  been  a  priest?  " 

"  It  was  something  you  said  that  brought  it  up,  and 
if  you  hadn't  been  a  priest  you  might  not  have  said  it. 


WORKING  HIS  SCHEME  421 

,  .  .  As  you  are  a  man  whom  I  believe  to  be  thor 
oughly  good,  let  me  say  that  I  am  soon  to  make  a  con 
fession  to  a  hard  mortal,  and  to  me  it  may  mean  a 
lifetime  of  desperate  unhappiness.  The  woman  I  would 
give  my  soul  to  possess  will  shudder  and  hate  me,  and 
the  man,  her  father  —  ' ' 

"  You  must  tell  me  no  more.  I  cannot  advise  you, 
other  than  to  counsel  you  to  be  true  to  your  conscience, 
your  soul." 

With  warm  handclasp  they  parted ;  and  when  Hower- 
son  returned  to  his  room  where  Watkins  sat  waiting 
for  him,  the  Poet  said:  "  My  dear  martial  companion, 
walking  homeward  just  now  from  a  stroll  with  reverend 
and  ancient  theology,  I  wondered  as  to  how  many 
varieties  of  fool  a  fairly  active  man  can  play." 


CHAPTER  XLIH. 
AND  THE  WRETCH  DIDN'T  KNOW  IT 

Eight  weeks  passed  and  but  little  more  remained  for 
Howerson  to  do.  The  contractor  had  arrived  with  a 
force  of  men.  Construction  was  about  to  begin,  and 
Whateley,  informed  every  day  as  to  progress,  had 
dictated  his  congratulations,  "  Very  good." 

The  Poet  had  written  to  Rose,  a  humorous  letter,  but 
in  among  the  lines  his  spirit  stole;  for  humor,  heritage 
of  the  poet  and  the  prophet,  is  truth  softened  with  the 
glow  of  romance.  .  .  .  Then  there  were  days  of 
anxious  waiting,  but  not  many,  for  one  morning  there 
came  a  large  square  packet  that  seemed  to  laugh 
loud  his  name,  and  out  of  the  town  he  walked  with  it 
unopened,  wondering  whether  the  villagers  whom  he  met 
did  not  know  that  he  had  it. 

Out  across  a  vacant  place  he  walked,  where  a  tethered 
calf  left  off  his  browsing  on  dewy  grass  to  look  at  him 
with  guying  up-turn  of  lip,  down  a  briary  lane  beneath 
swift-growing  saplings  in  tender  leaf;  down  over  low 
sward  to  a  rivulet,  overturing  upon  shining  gravel  the 
opera  sung  by  nesting  birds. 

Here  beneath  an  elm  he  sat  down  to  read:  "  Dear 
Pal."  How  else  could  she  begin?  "  Did  you  expect 
her  to  throw  herself  into  your  arms,  you  fool?  " 
he  mused.  But  after  all  how  frank  she  was,  and 
humorous  too,  with  friendly  truth.  Friendly,  yes.  But- 
read  it :  How  long  he  had  been  in  writing,  and  she  was 
tempted  to  shame  him  for  his  silence,  but  wouldn  't.  She 

422 


THE  WRETCH  DIDN'T  KNOW  IT          423 

understood.  "  It  was  because  you  fancy  yourself  under 
an  obligation  to  me  and  didn't  want  me  to  think  that 
it  was  on  this  account  that  you  wrote,  as  one  who 
acknowledges  a  debt  after  having  been  forbidden  to 
mention  it.  I  admit  that  I  don't  make  this  very  clear. 
Why  do  you  say  that  I  am  the  most  wonderful  woman  in 
the  world?  Don't  you  know  that  I  shall  be  tempted, 
after  such  extravagance,  to  look  with  suspicion  on  every 
thing  you  say?  I  know  that  I  am  not  a  remarkable 
woman.  If  I  were,  and  with  my  opportunities,  I  should 
achieve  something.  As  it  is,  I  say  to  myself,  '  What  can 
I  do?  '  Genius  —  you  called  me  a  genius,  don't  forget 
that  —  genius  never  asks  itself  such  questions.  Genius 
finds  itself  forced  to  do  things.  Genius  is  not  a  self- 
enforced  industry;  it  is  more  often  a  dreamy  laziness 
compelled.  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but  I  know  that  I 
am  not  it.  I  don 't  like  to  be  called  a  genius.  You  seem 
to  think  it  the  greatest  of  all  praise,  and  it  may  be  to 
a  man  but  not  to  a  woman.  But  when  you  call  me 
wonderful  —  shall  I  confess  that  I  like  it?  Yes.  How 
we  love — "  scratched  out  —  "like  to  be  glamoured 
over  with  error.  Dr.  Henshaw  —  Oh,  I  must  tell  you 
of  an  outing. 

"  Little  Calvin  had  to  go  fishing  out  at  Fox  River. 
Pete  had  gone  there  once,  so  father  decided  or  rather 
had  to  decide  to  take  Calvin.  No,  Calvin  didn't  want 
Pete  to  go;  he  had  not  gone  with  Pete.  But  he  would 
not  hear  to  going  in  the  auto.  Anybody  could  go  that 
way.  Pete  had  gone  on  an  excursion  train,  and  so  must 
he,  and  we  had  to  convince  him  that  the  train  we  were  to 
take  was  an  excursion.  That  was  settled.  Now  came 
the  question  of  lunch,  not  luncheon.  Pete  said  that 
luncheon  meant  cake  and  jelly  and  was  fit  only  for 
girls.  The  right  lunch  consisted  of  dried  beef,  wieners 


424  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

» 

and  kraut,  the  wieners  and  kraut  to  be  cooked  near  the 
river  bank  in  a  tin  can,  oyster  or  tomato,  the  latter  some 
what  preferred.  Father  rebelled  against  the  kraut,  and, 
oh,  how  determinedly !  He  declared  that  it  would  drive 
all  other  excursionists  off  the  train.  Then  Calvin: 
'  Pete 's  kraut  didn  't.  If  I  can 't  have  the  kraut  I  won  ?t 
go.'  Then  Father:  '  Paul,  get  the  kraut/ 

"  Arrived  at  the  station,  Paul  with  the  basket,  tin 
cans  rattling,  there  was  another  hitch.  Pete  had  traveled 
forward  in  the  smoking  car.  Father:  '  I  positively 
forbid  you  to  ride  in  the  smoker.  Turn  about,  Paul,  and 
we  '11  go  home. '  Calvin :  '  All  right.  If  I  can 't  go  like 
Pete  I  don 't  want  to  go.  You  said  I  might.  Aunt  Rose, 
gran  'pa  won 't  keep  his  word.  He 's  a  ditcher. '  Father : 
'  Go  into  the  smoker,  Paul.'  And  I  had  to  go  too,  but 
the  windows  were  up  and  I  didn 't  mind  it. 

"  Out  in  the  country  the  air  was  one  great  slow  wave 
of  perfume,  with  little  thrilling  scents  for  spray ;  and  I 
wished  that  you  might  have  been  with  us,  for  I  know 
you  would  have  enjoyed  it.  Calvin  spoke  of  you,  time 
and  again,  and  he  had  insisted  on  wearing  the  wolfskin 
coat,  in  defiance  of  the  warm  weather,  until  reminded 
that  Pete  had  worn  no  wolf's  hide,  and  this  point  he 
surrendered.  .  .  .  What  a  delight  it  was  to  gather 
up  brushwood  to  make  a  fire  down  near  the  river's  edge 
where  the  ripples  whispered  their  music  among  the 
rushes.  And  the  lunch!  Father  ate  like  a  boy  and  I 
like  a  heathen ;  and  how  happy  we  all  were  —  ' '  Hang 
it,  why  should  she  be  happy!  Couldn't  she  have  said 
that  under  the  circumstances  they  did  fairly  well? 
Happy !  But  read  on : 

' '  And  then  Calvin  caught  a  sunfish !  I  wish  you  could 
have  seen  him.  He  buttoned  it  up  —  ugh !  —  fluttering 
in  his  pocket,  wore  it  home  and  would  have  slept  with 


THE  WRETCH  DIDN'T  KNOW  IT          425 

it  that  night  had  not  warm  weather  asserted  its  argu 
ment.  After  lunch  Paul  and  father  dozed  beneath  the 
trees.  Calvin  spied  a  gopher,  chased  him  to  his 
hole  in  the  ground,  and  I  had  to  sit  there  with  him  and 
watch.  '  Jiggers,  he 's  coming !  '  he  would  cry  whenever 
I'd  move.  .  .  .  Yes,  we  wished  that  you  had  been 
there. 

"  And  now  I  have  something  to  tell  that  may  interest 
you,  but  you  must  not  ask  me  any  whys  or  wherefores. 
Two  days  after  you  left,  Annie  Zondish  came  to  see  me 
and  since  then  comes  often,  known  to  old  Paul,  the  only 
one  who  sees  her,  as  Miss  Evans.  We  are  carrying  out 
a  dark  and  desperate  scheme,  that  of  going  among  the 
wretched,  not  with  advice  but  with  food  and  clothes. 
Not  in  a  hundred  years  could  you  guess  whom  we  have 
taken  into  our  confidence  and  who  goes  with  us.  Guess ! 
You  can't.  Dr.  Henshaw.  There,  I  told  you  so.  And 
you  would  be  amused  to  observe  how  human  he  is  getting 
to  be  —  actually  human.  At  first  he  protested,  declared 
that  his  work  lay  among  the  intellectual,  but  I  told  him 
that  if  Peter 's  and  Paul 's  work  had  lain  in  that  field  the 
seeds  of  the  gospel  never  could  have  sprouted. 

"  At  first  he  thought  to  inquire  into  the  religious 
belief  of  those  starving  dwellers  in  hovels,  urging  old 
men  who  could  hardly  understand  a  word  he  uttered  to 
beware  of  the  dark  error  of  popery.  We  found  an  intel 
ligent  old  man,  an  American,  '  down  and  out,'  not  on 
account  of  any  fault  of  his  own,  but  because  he  was  old. 
We  set  him  up  at  an  advantageous  corner,  in  the  news 
business,  adding  cigars  and  tobacco.  The  doctor  objec 
ted.  He  said  that  the  Lord  would  not  prosper  a  man 
who  sold  tobacco.  '  Well,  He  may  not  but  something 
does, '  said  Annie,  and  she  reminded  him  of  the  wealth  of 
the  tobacco  trust.  So,  generally  he  has  given  in,  and  has 


426  THE  NEW  ME.  HOWERSON 

become  quite  companionable  as  well  as  useful.  It  is  sur 
prising  how  much  Annie  knows.  She  is  acquainted  with 
every  phase  of  misfortune,  and  is  wonderfully  patient. 
She  rarely  speaks  of  herself,  but  she  acknowledged 
yesterday  that  while  it  was  not  possible  for  her  to  be 
happy,  yet  she  was  more  contented  now  in  her  work 
than  she  had  ever  been  before.  I  have  not  asked  her 
any  questions  concerning  herself,  or  as  to  why  she  and 
the  others  went  to  your  room  that  night.  Isn't  that 
wonderful  patience  on  my  part?  Several  times  she  has 
spoken  of  you.  She  says  you  have  a  great  soul.  And 
what  did  I  say?  I  won't  tell  you.  .  .  .  " 

Almost  a  love  letter  and  the  wretch  didn't  know 
it.  ...  Up  the  rivulet  he  went,  sat  down  and  read 
again,  seeming  to  fancy  that  a  change  of  scene  might 
bring  out  new  meanings.  He  walked  about  till  the  court 
house  bell  hammered  out  the  hour  of  noon,  then  went 
back  to  the  hotel  and  entered  the  dining  room  just  as 
Col.  Watkins  was  in  the  gracious  act  of  smoothing  out 
his  napkin  over  his  knees. 

During  the  afternoon  Howerson  had  no  chance  to  read 
his  letter  again,  but  in  the  evening  while  in  his  room 
he  sat  with  it,  and  was  musing  over  it  when  he  heard 
the  town 's  most  important  man,  in  the  corridor,  assuring 
the  big  blonde  from  Sweden  that  unless  his  acute  recol 
lection  played  him  a  scaly  trick  she  was  the  handsomest 
thing  that  ever  jollied  his  eyes.  The  letter  was  too 
sacred  to  be  discussed  with  even  an  old  friend,  and  the 
Poet  hid  it  away  in  his  coat  pocket  where  his  heart  could 
beat  against  it. 

"  Yal,  after  I've  returned  to  Chicago,  if  by  any 
peculiar  chance  you  should  lose  your  job,  promise  that 
without  losing  confidence  in  yourself,  you  will  come 
straightway  to  me.  Will  you?  " 


THE  WRETCH  DIDN'T  KNOW  IT          427 

Latterly  when  Howerson  called  him  Yal,  the  colonel 
was  suspicious  of  something  serious.  "  I  promise  ye, 
soothsayer  of  the  muses,  but  why  this  sudden  reduction 
to  the  ranks?  Why  do  you  pluck  off  my  colonel's  star? 
Have  I  failed  to  draw  sword  in  the  presence  of  the 
enemy?  Do  I  leap  behind  a  tree  when  ordered  to  lead 
the  charge?  '  Impart,'  said  the  Dane." 

"  Colonel,  I  beg  your  pardon.  Your  star  is  as  secure 
and  as  fixed  as  if  gleaming  in  the  Milky  Way.  Mis 
fortune  can  not  pull  you  down  to  the  ranks  from  which 
you  have  so  valiantly  risen.  But  your  field  of  campaign 
might  be  shifted." 

"  You  mean,  George,  that  Whateley  might  fire  me?  " 

"  I  mean  that  if  by  any  freak  on  his  part  he  should, 
you  must  come  in  all  haste  to  me." 

"  But  didn't  he  tell  you  I  was  an  invaluable  man?  " 

"  He  did.  But  suppose  I  should  fall  and  bring  you 
down  with  me." 

"  You  would  find  me  dusting  myself,  thankful  for 
past  favors.  But  I'd  continue  to  remain  here,  George. 
It's  pretty  hard  for  some  men  to  move  their  titles  to  a 
new  community,  and  I  'm  afraid  I  am  one  of  them.  With 
very  little  cash  I  have  managed  to  get  in  on  a  few  things 
in  this  town.  The  wisdom  tooth  may  be  a  good  thing, 
but  about  the  best  thing  a  fellow  can  do  is  to  cut  an 
age-tooth.  Then  he'll  have  something  to  chew  with. 
Liquor  prevents  the  cutting  of  this  tooth,  but  it  pops 
through  the  gums  like  the  coming  up  of  a  toadstool,  in 
a  night,  when  we  know  that  we  have  given  to  booze  its 
final  pass-up. ' ' 

"  Good,  Colonel,  I  hold  your  stirrup.  ...  If 
there  should  be  a  shake-up,  I'll  come  out  to  see  you." 

"  Yea,  and  on  my  wall  you'll  find  an  emblem,  the 
pen  and  the  sword  crossed.  I  am  free  again,  George,  to 


428  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

shove  out  my  bark  upon  the  hitherto  choppy  frith  of 
matrimony.  I  may  not,  but  of  late  a  certain  widow  has 
come  into  my  wide-awake  dream.  She  has  a  bit  of  land 
shouldering  up  pretty  well  against  the  town,  with  a  fair 
house  and  a  garden  where  I  have  seen  cabbages  growing 
in  the  promise  of  rare  development.  I  saw  her  first  in 
this  manless  Eden  of  vegetables,  searching  with  gloved 
hands  for  cutworms  hidden  among  the  clods.  I  halted 
and  offered  her  the  benefit  of  my  experience.  This 
appealed  to  her.  Doubtless  no  man  had  ever  before 
that  day  engaged  her  on  a  subject  so  stripped  of  life's 
insipid  vanities.  From  cutworms  we  turned,  as  acquaint 
ance  ripened,  to  the  small  bug  that  makes  a  cabbage  leaf 
look  like  a  lace  handkerchief.  I  could  see  she  was 
thrilled,  and  my  own  emotions  arose.  "We  passed  lightly 
over  grasshoppers  and  in  due  time  came  to  the  cricket, 
the  insect  of  sentiment,  harming  no  cabbage  but  filled 
with  heaven 's  dew,  singing,  for  poets  and  novelists  who 
know  all  things  except  nature.  But  am  I  giving  you 
too  much  at  one  sitting?  " 

"  My  dear  Colonel,  no  sitting  is  too  long  for  love," 
the  Poet  laughed,  glad  that  travesty  could  offer  relief 
from  brooding,  from  wondering  if  the  letter  against 
which  his  heart  was  beating  could  mean  love. 

"  You  are  an  honor  to  your  muse,  my  dear  Poet.  .  J 
From  the  cricket  we  strolled  by  natural  sequence  to 
domestic  joys,  to  firesides;  and  she  invited  me  into  her 
house,  where  boughs  still  in  fresh  bloom  were  heaped  up 
in  the  fireplace.  Since  then  I  have  happened  along  at 
times,  and  the  fact  that  she  always  seems  to  look  upon 
my  coming  as  an  event  —  er  —  " 

"  Falling  in  the  nick  of  convenience,"  the  Poet  sug 
gested.  "  When  we  chance  upon  a  woman  and  don't 
put  her  out  in  any  way,  we  are  welcome  indeed." 


THE  WRETCH  DIDN'T  KNOW  IT          429 

' '  Ha, ' '  cried  the  colonel,  ' '  your  head,  though  young 
to  behold,  yet  is  saged  with  the  wisdom  of  many  winters. 
....  No  matter  when  I  called,  I  was  there  at  the 
right  time.  And  her  accomplishments  would  astonish 
you.  Her  butter  takes  the  premium  at  the  county  fair, 
and  her  plum  preserves  —  let  me  tell  you  about  'em: 
They  made  the  ancient  professor  of  a  school  for  young 
ladies  forget  his  dignity  and  stalk  off  down  the  road 
smacking  his  mouth  with  a  pop  like  a  mule  driver's 
whip.  Of  course  it  is  natural  that  with  all  these  virtues 
there  should  be  at  least  one  drawback,  and  there  is  one. 
She  has  a  daughter  whose  occupation  it  is  to  hang  over 
the  front  gate." 

"  But  the  gate  can  be  removed,"  said  the  Poet. 

' '  George,  you  have  wiped  out  the  only  obstacle.  But 
understand  that  I  don't  intend  to  call  on  this  kind  soul 
for  help  in  the  way  of  marriage  unless  compelled  by  — 
er  —  sentiment  or  misfortune.  And  if  you  should  lose 
that  girl  —  but  you  can't.  It's  impossible.  You  are 
going  to  marry  her.  The  cards  are  dealt.  The  old  man 
may  fume,  but  she  will  walk  away  with  you.  Why 
should  fate  construct  the  play  if  it  were  not  intended 
you  should  marry  her  1  I  tell  you  it 's  a  cinch. ' ' 

In  the  colonel's  positivism  there  was  encouragement. 
He  knew  old  lank-jawed  Madam  Fate,  pale  in  black  robe 
and  decrepit  to  look  upon,  but  in  action  swift  and  pow 
erful,  a  murderess  of  weak  children,  a  flatterer  of  strong 
men,  a  genial  joker  when  she  chooses  to  be  —  with  her 
bony  fingers  writing  undying  verse,  drama,  signing  mar 
riage  contracts,  penning  sermons,  scoring  music  —  a 
nymph,  a  slut.  Old  Yal  had  carried  water  for  her,  and 
many  a  time  had  she  kicked  him  down  the  stairs  into  the 
filthy  cellar  and  shrieked  in  wild  laughter  as  his  head 
knocked  upon  the  stones.  But  now  she  had  punished 


430  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

him  till  she  was  tired,  and  in  her  weariness  she  mumbled 
to  him  her  secrets. 

The  Poet  slept  better  for  having  talked  with  Yal,  and 
in  the  early  night  when  day  has  died  its  always  melan 
choly  death,  and  when  in  hope  most  men  are  weakest, 
he  now  was  strongest,  listening  to  the  dogmatism  of  his 
friend,  inspired  jargon,  slang  of  the  kindly  gods:  "  It's 
a  cinch."  But  sometimes  his  heart  smote  him  with  its 
old  questioning.  A  week  passed  and  he  had  not  written- 
again  to  Rose.  He  was  afraid  of  his  pen. 

One  evening  he  sat  in  dark  reverie,  wondering  in 
reproach  why  Yal  had  not  come,  when  there  came  Father 
Ben,  his  broad  good-natured  face  like  a  full  moon  rising 
up  red  through  the  brush. 

"  I  have  come  to  tell  you,"  he  said  as  he  sat  down, 
"  that  to-day  I  visited  the  Spring  Valley  neighborhood 
and  that  there  will  be  no  further  opposition  in  that 
quarter. ' ' 

"  I  am  most  grateful,  Father.  Is  there  any  possible 
way  I  can  serve  you  ?  ' ' 

"  No  way,  my  son,  except  to  remember  me  when  you 
are  gone  away  and  sometimes  to  send  me  a  book,  some 
little  thing  forgotten  of  the  world." 

"  I  thank  you,  Father.  You  add  a  new  pleasure  to 
old  book  stalls.  "Whenever  I  come  across  anything  I 
think  you'd  like,  I'll  send  it." 

"  Ah,  yes,  if  you  please.  ...  At  different  times 
I  have  heard  you  and  the  colonel  hint  at  some  sort  of 
drama,  glanced  at  by  both  of  you.  Send  me  a  copy  if 
you  can  get  it  handily." 

"  Oh,  we  were  talking  about  our  own  lives,  written 
by  Fate.  It  is  one  of  our  grim  jokes." 

"  Grim  it  may  be,  my  son,  but  not  a  joke.  It  all  has 
a  purpose,  and  not  as  a  joke  to  be  laughed  at  in  the 


THE  WRETCH  DIDN'T  KNOW  IT          431 

end.  We  may  strive,  scoff,  but  we  cannot  make  a  jest  of 
our  own  unhappiness.  Great  history  has  her  broad  high 
way  laid  out,  and  down  it  she  must  march;  but  not  the 
little  histories,  the  narrow,  personal  path  we  must  choose 
for  ourselves.  So  it  is  well  that  we  follow  good  counsel 
and  choose  wisely." 

"Ah,"  said  the  Poet,  "  I  often  think  along  that  line. 
But  we  choose  and  don't  know  that  we  have  chosen 
wisely.  We  grope  in  continual  experiment." 

"  If  we  choose  without  the  right  counsel,  yes;  if  we 
listen  only  to  the  voices  of  earth.  When  you  travel  your 
path  as  far  as  I  have  traveled  mine,  you  then  can  know 
the  little  value  in  the  most  of  the  things  you  have  been 
taught.  There  is  but  one  great  knowledge  —  God.  And 
that  knowledge  you  seem  to  ignore  when  you  talk  of  your 
drama  written  by  Fate.  Let  not  your  play  be  written 
by  so  whimsical  a  pen. ' ' 

"  Ha,  but  I  can't  help  myself.  I  am  not  in  a  position 
to  dictate,  to  refuse  or  to  accept.  What  I  would  most 
abhor  might  be  thrust  upon  me.  If  the  world  has  her 
broad  highway  laid  out  and  which  she  is  compelled  to 
take,  man,  being  a  part  of  the  world,  to  himself  the 
whole  world  in  fact,  is  shoved  into  his  path  and  sent 
stumbling  onward,  up  hill  or  down  as  the  way  may  lead. 
We—" 

He  was  glad  that  Yal  came  in  to  break  into  his  fruit 
less  talk,  and  Father  Ben  appeared  rather  pleased,  for 
nearer  akin  to  his  humor  was  simple  human  nature, 
rarely  giving  his  speaking  self  to  subjects  which  no 
metaphysic  wrestler  can  gather  on  his  hip  and  land 
squarely  on  the  ground. 

Colonel  Watkins  wore  a  rose,  pinned  on  his  coat  by 
fingers  gently  deft  when  not  grabbling  for  cutworms 
among  the  clods,  and  his  newly-trimmed  beard  gleamed 


432  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

sharp-pointed  in  the  light.  He  laughed  at  their  sober 
faces  with  a  jollity  that  floated  out  to  cheer  the  night 
air.  Ha,  no  metaphysics  now,  sighing  lover  and  learned 
priest. 

And  when  the  night  was  old,  and  the  two  friends  were 
alone,  the  Poet's  hungry  heart  cried  out  for  food.  "  Yal, 
tell  me,  old  man,  if  you  really  think  that  she  —  ' ' 

"  Oh,  it's  a  cinch,  George.  You  can't  get  away  from 
it." 

"You  really  feel  it?  " 

11  I  would  bet  my  immortal  crown,"  the  colonel  swore, 
which  might  not  have  seemed  a  rash  wager,  but  it  was 
mellow  bell  music  to  the  Poet,  and  soothed  him  with  its 
chimes. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 
TOO  WEAK  NOW 

On  the  following  evening,  when  Howerson  had  walked 
forth  to  muse  alone,  pacing  a  restless  beat  through  the 
early  dusk,  he  was  startled  by  a  light  touch  on  his 
shoulder.  Involuntarily  he  squared  himself  as  he  wheeled 
about  to  confront  —  Yal. 

"  You  might  as  well  kill  a  man  as  scare  him  to  death. 
"Why  this  stealthy  footpad  tread  and  fearsome  touch?  " 

"  An  experiment,  George." 

"  More  than  that!  He  tempts  fate  who  creeps  up 
stealthily  behind  —  ' ' 

"  An  experiment,  George.  Why  start  so?  Why 
mouth  your  fear  ?  There  is  something  you  dread  —  and 
expect." 

"  Nay,  Colonel,  the  bolt  has  shot.  This  was  but  the 
recoil. ' ' 

"  So  you  might  have  said  on  many  occasions.  What 
do  you  fear?  " 

"  I  fear  no  man." 

"  Nor  woman,  I  suppose.     Out  with  it,  George." 

"Now,  Yal—" 

"  I  know  there  is  something  you  still  dread;  you  show 
it  every  day.  And  when  I  find  those  who  show  an  undue 
interest  in  your  whereabouts  —  ' ' 

"  Ah!  " 

"  I  wonder  if  the  two  parts  link  together  to  make  a 
chain  of  truth.  There  was  Annie  Zondish,  and  now  — 
Hudsic." 

433 


434  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

' '  Hudsic !  ' '  For  the  life  of  him,  Howerson  could  not 
forbear  the  cry. 

"  He  is  here.  The  town  marshal  has  done  me  the 
favor  of  putting  a  man  to  watch  him.  You  don't  fear 
him,  George?  "  There  was  wonder  as  well  as  inquiry 
in  his  tone. 

"  Why,  Yal?  " 

"  He's  a  goner,  George.  He  looks  bad.  He  looks  like 
a  man  in  the  last  stages  of —  " 

"  Of  desperate  resolve.  I  must  find  him.  Do  you 
know  where  ?  ' ' 

"  The  Preston  House.  The  hang-out  of  palmists, 
clairvoyants,  book  agents  —  ' ' 

' '  Let  us  go  there. ' ' 

Howerson  went  with  him  to  a  desolate  shack,  to  find 
the  marshal  standing  within  the  shadows  of  a  tumble 
down  shed  next  the  alleyway. 

"  He's  a  sick  man,  Colonel  Watkins,"  he  said  to  Yal. 
' '  How-do,  Mr.  Howerson.  Friend  of  yours  —  Hudsic  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  see  him." 

Up  a  creaky  stairway,  down  a  drafty  hall,  they  came 
to  a  warped,  blistered  door,  agape  on  one  hinge.  With 
out  ceremony  the  marshal  pushed  it  open.  There  on  a 
cot  lay  Hudsic,  now  past  fearing  indeed.  Toward  the 
poet  he  turned  his  rusting  eyes  and  in  a  weak  voice  bade 
him  sit  down,  eyeing  Howerson  in  silence  until  Watkins 
and  the  marshal  had  stepped  out,  and  then  the  professor 
said: 

' '  I  am  too  weak  to  kill  you  now,  Mr.  Howerson. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  Hudsic,  and  you  always  were. ' ' 

"  Ha,  perhaps.  But  I  shall  be  stronger,"  and  with  his 
bony  hands  he  fingered  at  the  blanket  on  his  breast.  ' '  I 
shall  be  stronger,  as  strong  as  Moy,  the  Chinaman." 

"  He  was  the  only  one  among  you  that  had  nerve." 


TOO  WEAK  NOW  435 

The  professor  fingered  at  the  blanket,  plucked  a  ravel 
ing  from  it.  "A  sublime  character,  Mr.  Howerson." 
He  rolled  the  raveling  into  a  woolly  pill  and  dropped  it 
on  his  breast. 

"  Batterson,  Henk  —  where  are  they?  " 

"  Batterson  and  I  went  to  Milwaukee,  where,  as  a 
street  preacher  he  gathered  five  dollars  at  one  emotional 
meeting ;  a  fortune  in  our  hungered  condition,  Mr.  How 
erson.  But  to  Batterson  money  meant  gin  —  enough  to 
kill  him.  A  three  days'  drunk  put  him  in  prime  con 
dition  ;  then  he  tried  to  sober  up.  The  next  day  he  was 
dead.  The  other  members  of  the  executive  committee 
were  headed  for  California  when  I  last  heard  from  them. 
But  this  information  possesses  no  interest  for  you,  Mr. 
Howerson. ' ' 

' '  Not  much,  Professor.  But  no  matter  in  what  direc 
tion  they  are  headed,  they  will  meet  justice." 

"  A  fallacy,  Mr.  Howerson,  if  you  mean  punishment, 
and  that  is  the  only  justice  that  the  law  knows  anything 
about.  But  I  am  taking  your  time,  Mr.  Howerson. ' ' 

The  poet  turned  toward  the  door,  but  halted  and  said : 
"  Professor,  I  will  see  to  it  that  you  are  made  as  com 
fortable  as  possible,  and  that  your  wants  are  supplied." 

The  marshal  was  walking  up  and  down,  to  keep  guard 
over  his  suspicious  character.  "  I  want  you  to  see  that 
this  man  is  well  taken  care  of,"  said  Howerson.  u  Get 
a  pleasant  room  for  him,  employ  a  nurse,  and  if  I  am  not 
here,  present  the  bill  to  Colonel  Watkins  who  will  send 
it  to  me." 

At  the  hotel  Howerson  found  waiting  a  letter  from 
Whateley,  penciled  on  the  soft  leaf  of  a  pad,  bold  in 
the  old  man's  grasping  hand.  "  As  your  work  there  is 
done,  stop  off  on  your  way  back  and  look  into  the 
resources  of  a  struggling  electric  line  at  Grapley,  111." 


436  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

He  did  not  say,  "  Come  in  to  dinner";  did  not  say, 
"  We  shall  be  delighted  to  see  you."  Howerson,  with  a 
low  and  melancholy  droop  of  eye,  handed  the  scrawling 
mandate  to  Watkins.  The  colonel  gave  it  as  his  opinion 
that  Whateley's  meaning  was  clear  enough,  Howerson 
answering  that  in  its  clearness  lay  the  cause  of  present 
worry. 

Nothing  remained  but  to  pack  up  and  this  Howerson 
proceeded  to  do,  compressing  into  his  suit  case  more 
sighs  than  "  materialistic  accouterment, "  the  observant 
and  sympathetic  Watkins  declared.  When  the  final  sigh 
had  been  thinned  out  on  top  of  the  cargo,  along  with 
some  leaves  of  Missouri  tobacco,  the  lid  forced  down  and 
the  lock  sprung,  the  traction  promoter  of  the  grassy 
slope  was  ready  to  appraise  thinned-out  electricity  in 
Illinois. 

In  the  evening  the  two  friends  went  to  the  railway 
station,  and  in  the  early  moon,  "  silvering  the  distant 
hem  of  night,"  they  walked  up  and  down  the  platform 
waiting  for  a  train  which  the  agent  said  was  on  time, 
lying  with  placid  ease. 

' '  In  order  that  I  might  give  you  a  final  report, ' '  said 
the  colonel,  "  I  slipped  over  to  the  widow's  this  after 
noon.  ' ' 

"  She's  well,  I  hope." 

"  Yes,  middling.  But  in  the  dewy  flash  of  morn,  as 
nearly  as  she  could  calculate  by  signs,  a  ravenous  worm 
had  raised  —  I  suggested  hell,  but  she  reproved  me  — 
with  her  tomato  plants.  Aside  from  this  she  was  rather 
chipper.  Upon  the  whole,  however,  the  time  may  not 
have  been  well  sorted." 

"  Well  sorted  for  what?  " 

"  Toward  that  point  I  drift.     There  is  always  one 


TOO  WEAK  NOW  437 

more  atrocity  for  the  reformed  rapscallion  to  commit, 
marriage  for  convenience.  Savvy?  And  sitting  in  the 
cool  parlor,  the  scent  of  the  bloomed  boughs  in  the  fire 
place  dying  away  in  a  faint  and  melancholy  sniff,  I  said 
to  myself,  '  Colonel,  this  is  love's  nesting  time.' 

"  She  seemed  to  think  so  too,  for  her  lip  quivered  as 
she  cleared  her  throat  of  a  rising  lump  of  trouble,  the 
still  green  memory  of  the  tomato  worm.  '  Mrs.  Goebek, ' 
says  I,  recalling  her  poetic  name  and  without  much 
effort,  '  this  is  a  beautiful  world.'  '  Tolerable,'  she 
answers,  gazing  out  at  her  daughter  Iphigenia,  hanging 
over  the  gate.  '  Mrs.  Goebek,  it  is  woman  that  makes 
the  world  so  charming.'  '  Oh,  git  out  with  your  soft 
soap,'  she  says.  '  Mrs.  Goebek,  I  speak  from  a  heart 
struggling  with  its  emotional  self.  Don't  be  shocked. 
Be  my  wife.' 

"  Slowly  withdrawing  her  eyes  from  Iphigenia,  she 
bent  them  on  me,  broke  'em,  in  fact,  for  they  flew  into 
fragments  of  astonishment.  *  Why,  Colonel,'  she  says, 
'  how  you  skeer  me.  But  I  can't  marry  you,  for  I  am 
going  to  marry  the  mayor.  He  asked  me  first,  even  went 
so  far  as  to  pay  my  taxes.  Why  didn't  you  ask  me 
sooner?  '  '  Madam,'  says  I,  her  name  no  longer  poetic, 
'  I  asked  you  as  soon  as  I  could  catch  my  breath  after 
our  first  meeting.  Not  knowing  your  address  —  not 
being  aware  of  your  existence,  in  fact  —  I  couldn  't  tele 
graph  my  intentions  before  I  arrived  here.'  And  so  I 
left  her  to  work  out  her  own  bugological  destiny. ' ' 

"  Everything  considered,  you  acted  wisely,"  said  the 
meditative  Poet. 

Watkins  said  that  he  had  been  led  to  think  so,  although 
the  edge  of  disappointment  had  been  honed  sharper  on 
the  fact  of  a  more  recent  discovery,  the  truth  coming 


438  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWEESON 

from  the  mayor  himself  that  his  suit  had  been  granted 
by  telephone  only  a  few  minutes  before  the  colonel 
sought  to  file  his  claim.  ' '  Ah, ' '  said  the  most  important 
man  in  town,  feeling  that  by  an  inferior  he  had  been  out 
witted,  "  there  opens  up  no  avenue  of  reprisal.  But, 
George,  I'm  hamstrung  if  I  ever  read  another  book  writ 
ten  for  women.  I  will  no  further  pay  tribute  to  the 
scribbler  who  makes  a  study  of  feminine  whim  and  who 
smirks  his  dribblings  among  women  who  flutter  about 
him  to  ooze  their  appreciation  of  his  '  art.'  After  this, 
man-books  for  the  colonel." 

"  A  desperate  revenge,"  said  the  Poet.  "  But  for  my 
own  throes  of  nympholepsy  I  might  applaud.  I  might 
say  that  in  literary  art  woman  is  a  fashion,  man  eternal ; 
but  to  me  now,  Colonel,  all  art,  music,  science  —  God  — 
mean  only  a  woman.  And,  wise  old  yellow  Yal,  do  you 
really  believe  —  ' ' 

"  It 's  a  cinch, ' '  the  wise  one  swore. 

Just  as  the  train  was  pulling  in,  the  town  marshal 
came  up :  "  Mr.  Howerson,  that  old  man  Hudsic  is  dead. ' ' 

In  his  Pullman  bunk,  a  curtained  smother,  the  traveler 
lay,  nor  needed  he  the  cry  of  a  child,  the  fat  man 's  snore 
to  keep  him  awake.  From  clacking  ribs  of  steel  Yal's 
words  rang  out,  "It's  a  cinch  —  a  cinch,  cinch,"  and 
he  mused  over  the  millions  of  distresses  and  of  joys 
rhythmed  by  the  wheels,  year  after  year,  minute  after 
minute  as  man  has  rushed  and  is  always  rushing  with 
impatience  toward  his  end.  Yielding  to  the  insistent 
balm  of  the  colonel's  dogmatic  foresight,  he  pictured 
himself  in  ecstasy,  his  hands  full  of  the  gnarled  gold 
that  wreathed  Rose  Whateley's  head,  her  heart  beating 
against  his  own,  so  tired  with  long  aching.  "  A  cinch  — 
cinch !  ' '  He  would  trust  old  Yal.  An  exaggerator,  an 


TOO  WEAK  NOW  439 

eccentric?  Yes,  but  truth  was  always  borne  lapon  the 
tide  of  his  whimsey  rill.  And  in  this  midget  comfort 
the  Poet  dozed,  to  awake  with  the  feeling  that  he  was 
racing  to  the  disastrous  end  of  his  "  sentimental 
journey." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 
STOOD  WITH  HER  HEAD  ERECT 

In  the  Whateley  library  the  evening  lights  were  ablaze, 
and  deep  in  thought  the  old  man  sat  alone,  one  arm  rest 
ing  on  a  table  where  lay  his  few  favorites,  old  books  in 
big  print,  old  friends  of  simple  countenance.  No  busi 
ness  worry  had  dogged  him  home,  and  now  he  could  sit 
in  the  ripest  of  all  luxury,  the  indulgence  of  impersonal 
thought.  But  not  for  long.  Old  Paul  slippered  softly 
in  to  say,  "  Dr.  Henshaw  is  very  anxious  to  see  you  for 
a  few  moments,  sir." 

"  Tell  him  to  — come  in." 

The  doctor  entered,  smiling  with  a  light  not  too  glar 
ing  but  chastely  regulated,  and  held  forth  his  hand.  ' '  I 
trust,  my  dear  Mr.  "Whateley,  that  in  coming  to  offer 
my  poor  congratulations  I  do  not  at  this  hour  intrude. ' ' 

"  Not  at  all.  Sit  down."  When  the  doctor  had  seated 
himself,  Whateley  added:  "  But  congratulations  — 
what  about?  " 

The  Doctor  said  that  he  was  astonished  at  such  an 
inquiry.  What  about,  when  it  was  known  that  Mr. 
Whateley  had  become  possessed  of  the  richest  railway  in 
the  West?  Whateley  told  him  not  to  worry,  and  then 
asked  humorously,  "  Well,  how  do  you  find  yourself?  " 

"  Meaning  as  to  health,  I  presume.  In  the  bestowal 
of  the  crown  of  all  blessings,  health,  the  Lord  is  good  to 
me."  But  not  yet  reassured  as  to  the  railway,  the 
doctor  suffered  his  smile  to  burn  low.  Whateley  seemed 
to  perceive  foreign  or  domestic  levy,  and  ahemed  depre- 

440 


STOOD  WITH  HER  HEAD  EEECT         441 

catingly  of  the  success  of  Howerson's  trip.  The  doctor 
pressed  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together,  after  the  manner 
of  men  who  have  not  the  employment  of  tobacco. 

"  I  had  hoped,"  he  began. 

"  By  the  way,  Doctor,"  Whateley  interrupted,  for- 
seeing  the  touch,  "  there  is  something  I  have  wanted  for 
several  days  to  speak  to  you  about.  Annie  Zondish 
dropped  out  of  the  newspapers  a  month  or  so  ago,  and 
then,  of  all  places,  bobs  up  in  my  house.  Not  only  this, 
but  my  daughter  goes  about  with  her,  on  mysterious 
journeys  of  mercy  —  an  excellent  thing  —  and  accom 
panied  by  one  other,  yourself." 

The  doctor  began  to  fidget  about  in  his  chair. 

"  No  reproof,  I  assure  you,"  Whateley  went  on. 
"  But  I  should  like  to  know  how  it  all  came  about.  I 
have  asked  my  daughter,  and  she  declares  that  she  is 
not  as  yet  at  liberty  to  tell  me.  I  didn't  know  but  that 
you  might  be  able  to  —  ha  —  shed  some  light." 

"  Not  a  ray,  my  dear  Mr.  Whateley.  I  was  admitted 
into  your  daughter's  confidence,  and  requested  to  accom 
pany  her  and  Miss  Zondish.  But  as  to  the  cause  that  led 
the  woman  to  your  house  I  am  in  ignorance.  Let  me 
say,  however,  that  I  have  seen  her  prove  herself  a  kindly 
and  most  worthy  person.  And  I  am  free  to  admit  that 
my  association  with  her  has  greatly  opened  my  eyes. 
My  journeys  of  late  into  places  which  I  have  in  the 
past  preached  about  but  of  which  I  was  in  total 
ignorance,  have  been  of  great  heart  and  soul  value  to  me ; 
I  may  be  neglecting  my  books,  but  I  have  found  greater 
books  in  the  library  of  human  action,  human  distress. 
Mr.  Whateley,  it  was  not  merely  to  congratulate  you  that 
I  call  here  this  evening,  but  for  a  higher  and  nobler 
purpose.  My  life  is  not  all  composed  of  narrow  creed ; 
I  always  possessed  a  heart,  preoccupied  in  study,  it  is 


442  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

true,  but  of  late  it  has  been  quickened;  and  I  am  here 
to  talk  to  you  on  business,  Mr.  Whateley." 

"  Good  enough,  Doctor.  And  what  you  say  reminds 
me  that  your  sermons  have  strengthened  within  the  past 
few  weeks.  Keep  on  talking  blue  shirt  instead  of  blue 
stocking  and  you'll  have  a  house  full  every  Sunday.  I 
know  that  men  in  my  position  are  charged  with  enmity 
toward  the  laboring  classes,  and  in  some  instances  this 
is  true,  but  as  for  myself,  I  rate  a  man  according  to  his 
brain.  The  poor  man  is  not  my  adversary.  I  am  fight 
ing  my  battle  with  the  rich,  and  the  colors  to  be  cap 
tured —  money.  But  I  have  led  myself  off.  You  say 
you  wish  to  talk  business.  Foreign  or  domestic  ?  ' ' 

"  Domestic.  Mr.  Whateley,  in  a  neighborhood  which 
I  have  visited  lately  there  is  a  vast  deal  of  what  I  might 
term  —  er  —  vicious  ignorance.  The  people  —  ' ' 

' '  You  want  me  to  build  them  a  church.    Is  that  it  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh,  no,  no.    They  have  churches." 

' '  And  live  in  vicious  ignorance !  But  perhaps  they 
won't  go  to  church.  .  .  .  What  is  it  you  want  me  to 
do?  Drive  them  in?  " 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Whateley,  you  persist  in  anticipating 
me  the  wrong  way.  Bear  with  me,  please,  for  a  brief 
time.  The  older  ones  of  this  neighborhood  are  practic 
ally  beyond  our  reach ;  and  what  Miss  Zondish  and  your 
daughter  suggest,  and  which  I  most  heartily  approve,  is 
to  build  a  large  manual  training  school ;  indeed,  the  Cal 
vin  Whateley  Institute.  Do  you  follow  me  ?  " 

Old  Calvin  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  scratched  his 
head.  "  Yes,  I  follow,  and  most  willingly,  down  to 
where  the  road  forks." 

"  May  I  ask,  Mr.  Whateley,  where  the  road  forks?  " 

"  At  my  name.  If  I  should  endow  this  school  and 
give  it  my  name,  my  motives  would  be  misconstrued. 


STOOD  WITH  HER  HEAD  ERECT          443 

The  public  would  look  on  it  as  an  advertisement,  or  as 
a  pretentious  prayer,  imploring  the  Lord  to  forgive  as 
many  of  my  sins  as  He  could  consistently.  The  school, 
however,  shall  be  built  by  unidentified  money,  and  splen 
didly  equipped.  But  we'll  have  to  settle  on  some  other 
name.  What  is  it,  Paul?  "  The  butler  had  entered. 

"  Why,  sir,  the  woman  I  knew  as  Miss  Evans  but 
who  now  says  her  name's  Zondish  is  out  here,  sir.  She 
says  you  wished  to  see  her." 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Whateley ;  ' '  yes,  to  be  sure.  Show  her 
in." 

When  Annie  Zondish  entered  the  room  the  two  men 
rose,  the  doctor  performing  the  office  of  introduction ; 
and  it  was  an  office,  a  speech,  in  fact,  delivered  in  unct 
uous  grandiloquence,  settling  for  all  time  the  differences 
of  opinion  held  by  capital  and  labor. 

"  Miss  Zondish,"  said  Whateley,  "  I  can  say  truth 
fully  that  I  wanted  to  meet  you. ' ' 

' '  Your  daughter  said  you  wished  to  see  me,  and  1  am 
here." 

She  stood  with  her  hands  clasped  in  front  of  her,  head 
erect;  but  in  her  eyes  there  was  not  the  fire  that  Rose 
had  seen  blaze  and  then  die  down  to  softened  glow  — 
not  the  blaze  now  but  still  the  glow.  She  was  dressed 
with  exceeding  modesty,  but  not  in  the  studied  misfit 
of  repentance;  and  in  old  Calvin's  eye  there  was  a 
look  of  compliment.  "  Won't  you  please  sit  down?  "'he 
said. 

"  No,  I  thank  you.    You  wished  to  see  me?  " 

"  For  no  special  reason,  Miss  Zondish.  Only  to  tell 
you  that  I  am  much  pleased  to  hear  of  the  work  you  are 
doing." 

"  And  not  to  reproach  me." 

The  old  man  laughed  but  more  in  tenderness  than  in 


444  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

mirth.  "  I  reproach  you!  I  could  not  find  it  in  my 
heart  to  do  that." 

"  But  they  told  me  your  heart  was  hard." 

He  did  not  laugh  now.  "  Miss  Zondish,  report  will 
always  exaggerate  the  bad  and  the  good.  No  man  —  ha 
—  lives  in  true  estimation.  "Won't  you  please  sit 
down?  " 

Slowly  she  shook  her  head.  Her  old  life,  old  ideas  and 
principles  still  made  faint  protest  against  banishment. 
The  two  men  remained  standing.  "Whateley  continued 
the  subject,  smiling:  "  I  am  not  a  saint,  Miss  Zondish. 
If  I  were,  I  'd  not  be  in  business.  Men  strike  at  me,  and 
warding  off  their  blows  the  best  I  can,  I  strike  at  them. 
Sometimes  in  my  heat  I  may  hit  the  wrong  man,  and  it 
is  the  wrong  blow  that  is  always  advertised.  Down  in 
North  Carolina,  when  I  was  a  boy,  there  lived  an  old 
fellow  named  Jackson.  For  the  most  part  he  spent  his 
life  doing  good.  When  the  widow's  cow  was  about  to  be 
sold  by  the  law,  he  was  always  there  to  buy  the  cow  and 
give  it  back  to  her.  But  one  day,  in  the  village,  celebrat 
ing  the  home-coming  of  an  old  friend,  he  took  too  much 
liquor,  fell  off  his  horse  and  was  crippled;  and  ever 
after  that  he  was  known  as  Old  Drunken  Jackson.  .  * 
Miss  Zondish,  I  hope  you  won't  mind  my  asking  you  a 
few  questions." 

"  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Whateley." 

' '  Ah !  Miss  Zondish,  not  long  ago  you  were  the  avowed 
advocate  of  the  knife  and  the  fire-brand.  Then,  all  was 
violence.  Now,  among  the  lowly  you  are  an  agent  of 
gentleness  and  mercy.  Let  me  ask  you  what  brought 
about  this  sudden  change.  How  did  you  happen  to  meet 
my  daughter?  " 

Until  this  moment  Annie  had  stood  motionless,  hands 
clasped  in  front  of  her ;  now  she  turned,  looked  about  as 


STOOD  WITH  HER  HEAD  ERECT         445 

if  searching  for  something  on  the  floor,  on  the  walls. 
But  before  she  answered  she  stood  motionless  again, 
hands  together.  "  I  found  the  weak  too  weak  and  the 
strong  too  strong,"  she  said.  "  I  found  that  I  was  one 
of  the  weakest  of  the  weak,  because  I  had  wasted  my 
force  in  emotional  violence.  I  have  not  surrendered;  I 
have  entered  upon  a  compromise.  The  world  is  not 
ready  for  brotherhood.  .  .  .  Have  you  not  asked 
your  daughter  how  she  chanced  to  meet  me  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  but  she  won't  tell  me." 

"  Then  why  should  you  think  that  I  am  at  liberty 
to  tell  ?  Do  you  think  so  mean  of  me  as  to  suppose  that 
I  would  betray  her  confidence?  " 

"  Doctor,"  said  Whateley,  "  as  little  Calvin  would 
say,  she  has  put  it  on  me.  No,  Miss  Zondish,  I  didn't 
think  that  ill  of  you.  In  fact  I  think  highly  of  you.  I 
believe  you  are  doing  as  much  good  as  anybody  in  this 
town.  And  the  real  honor  of  it  is  that  there's  no  cant 
about  your  work.  You  are  not  decorating  poverty  with 
the  trinkets  of  pretentious  salvation.  Wait  a  moment, 
Doctor."  The  good  man  was  clearing  his  throat.  "  I 
am  not  going  to  say  a  word  against  the  home  work  of 
your  church.  But  Miss  Zondish  labors  in  the  name  of 
man,  and  when  man  finds  man,  man  will  find  God.  Don 't 
worry  about  that,  Doctor." 

' '  My  dear  Mr.  Whateley, ' '  the  doctor  protested, ' '  you 
fire  your  rifle  before  the  quail  is  flushed.  You  —  ' ' 

' '  Rifle !  Doctor,  right  there  is  one  of  the  troubles  of 
your  class.  You  employ  false  illustrations  and  lose 
influence  among  men  of  the  world.  Rifle  for  flushed 
quails !  Do  you  think  that  the  Apostle  Peter  would  have 
angled  for  minnows  with  a  clothesline?  " 

•'  My  dear  Mr.  Whateley,  we  are  told  that  Peter 
employed  a  net." 


446  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  All  right,  Doctor;  good  enough.  .  .  .  Then,  Miss 
Zondish,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  wait  for  time  and  my 
daughter 's  whim  to  unfold  the  mystery. ' ' 

"  Perhaps  it  may  be  made  clear  after  Mr.  Howerson 
has  returned, ' '  she  said. 

"  Oh,  you  know  Mr.  Howerson?  Then  you  know  a 
most  remarkable  man." 

"  He  is  a  genius,  and  an  enemy  might  not  wish  him 
worse.  He  has  a  great  heart  for  the  world  to  crush. 
Are  you  through  with  me,  Mr.  Whateley?  " 

She  turned  to  take  her  leave.  "  Don't  go  yet,  Miss 
Zondish.  My  daughter  will  be  home  pretty  soon,  I  think, 
and  no  doubt  she  has  plans  she  would  like  to  talk  over 
with  you." 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  you,"  said  the  doctor,  "  why 
the  world  should  seek  to  crush  the  heart  of  genius.  The 
world  rewards  genius,  with  its  wreath  and  often  with  its 
happiness.  Was  it  not  a  reward  for  Luther  to  know  that 
he  had  accomplished  a  great  reformation?  Must  not 
John  Calvin  have  felt  that  he  had  revealed  a  great 
system  of  truth  ?  ' ' 

Miss  Zondish  stiffened,  and  bent  upon  the  preacher  a 
look  almost  of  contempt.  "  It  is  hard  for  your  church 
to  recognize  genius  except  within  the  white-washed 
palings  of  its  own  parsonage.  But  these  men,  measured 
by  their  own  ambition,  were  both  of  them  failures.  The 
great  Reformation  is  yet  to  come,  the  Christ  of  the  mine, 
the  loom  and  the  forge." 

At  this  moment  a  commotion  arose  in  the  hall.  They 
heard  little  Calvin  shout.  .  .  .  And  Howerson 
entered,  bearing  the  boy  in  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 
WHERE  THE  ROAD  FORKED 

It  was  not  within  conjecture  that  on  an  occasion  of 
even  so  acute  an  excitement  Dr.  Henshaw  could  exhibit 
himself  as  one  possessed  of  active  foot,  dignity  being  the 
censor  of  haste;  but  he  was  the  first  to  reach  Howerson 
and  to  seize  upon  him,  before  the  Poet  had  even  the 
chance  to  put  the  youngster  down  or  indeed  to  respond 
to  Whateley's  cordial  hail.  And  with  this  exuberant 
stir  of  atmosphere  Annie  Zondish  came  out  of  her  stat 
uesque  reserve,  to  hang  for  a  moment  on  Howerson's 
arm,  when  more  than  once  Whateley  had  clapped  him  on 
the  shoulder.  Now  she  sat  down. 

Old  Calvin  laughed  louder  than  any  of  them  ever 
heard  him  laugh  before,  but  the  boy  was  there  to  turn 
off  the  hydrant  of  excessive  spouting.  On  achievement 
along  commercial  lines  he  set  no  store;  his  friend,  the 
strong  man,  had  returned,  and  that  meant  more  than 
bannered  triumph  proclaiming  the  conquest  of  distant 
empire.  He  sat  on  the  Poet's  knee. 

"  My  papa  had  a  Chinaman  but  they  wouldn't  let 
me  see  him;  and  they're  going  to  take  him  and  hang 
him;  and  to-day  me  and  Pete  tried  to  hang  a  cat,  and 
you  ought  to  seen  him.  He  done  this  way  with  his 
hind  feet.  Look,  grandpa." 

The  old  man  looked  while  the  boy  showed  him. 

"  And  Pete's  shirt  was  nearly  all  tore  off,  and  you 
bet  we  didn  't  hang  that  cat.  He  got  up  on  the  low  shed 
on  the  other  side  of  the  alley,  and  grinned  at  us.  Then 

447 


448  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

Pete's  dog  come  and  barked  and  howled  because  he 
couldn  't  get  up  there.  But  the  milkman  come  along  and 
put  him  on  the  shed,  and  the  cat  spit  at  him  and  he 
jumped  off  and  pretended  like  he  wanted  to  get  back 
on  the  shed;  but  he  didn't  want  to,  did  he,  Mr. 
Howerson?  " 

"  You  bet  he  didn't,"  said  the  Poet.  Dr.  Henshaw, 
feeling  that  this  was  not  the  proper  wording  for  an 
opinion  delivered  to  a  boy,  came  forward  with  euphemis 
tic  revision,  setting  forth  that  the  dog,  like  over-zealous 
men,  sought  to  establish  a  reputation  for  courage  which 
it  had  been  proved  he  did  not  in  reality  possess. 

The  boy  looked  at  him  and  said, ' '  You  bet  he  didn't !  " 
and  old  Calvin  laughed. 

' '  Tell  Mr.  Howerson  what  you  did  out  at  Fox  River. ' ' 

"  Oh,  yes;  and  I  caught  a  fish  and  grandpa  didn't; 
and  he  pulled  and  pulled  but  I  brought  him  out.  Wasn  't 
that  fine,  Mr.  Howerson?  " 

' '  That  was  great, ' '  said  the  Poet. 

"  An  exciting  event,"  Dr.  Henshaw  offered  mildly  as 
a  substitute. 

"  Great,"  the  boy  would  have  it,  and  then  proceeded 
to  relate  the  gopher  hunt.  ' '  And  Aunt  Rose  —  are  you 
cold,  Mr.  Howerson?  " 

Howerson  caught  a  kindly  glance  from  Annie's  eyes, 
a  sympathetic  smile  from  her  lips,  and  then  quickly  he 
cast  a  look  on  Whateley's  countenance,  and  found  relief 
from  the  fear  that  the  old  man  had  wisely  interpreted 
the  youngster's  words.  He  was  talking  to  the  doctor; 
but  shortly  afterward  he  bade  the  boy  come  to  him  and 
whispered,  lips  almost  touching  the  little  fellow's  hair: 
"  We  have  some  business  to  talk  over,  and  I  want  you 
to  go  to  the  Cabin  and  wait  there  for  me." 

Drawing  the  old  man's  head  down  closer,  with  arms 


WHERE  THE  ROAD  FORKED  449 

about  his  neck  so  that  no  one  else  might  hear,  he  whis 
pered,  "  And  will  Mr.  Howerson  come,  too?  " 

"  Yes,  after  a  while.  There  is  an  apple  tree  stump 
in  the  fireplace.  Tell  Paul  to  set  it  afire,  and  it  will 
sparkle. ' ' 

' '  Just  like  when  you  was  a  boy  ?  ' ' 

' '  Yes ;  and  if  you  get  sleepy,  lie  down  on  my  bed,  and 
the  bugles  will  wake  you  up  when  the  cavalry  comes. 
Now  run  along." 

He  ran  away,  laughing ;  and  they  heard  him  shouting 
to  the  old  butler,  heard  them  both  going  up  the  stairs, 
imitating  the  bugle's  call. 

Annie  arose  to  take  her  leave.  "  Wait,"  said  Whate- 
ley.  "  We  haven't  yet  taken  Mr.  Howerson  into  our 
council  about  that  manual  training  school." 

Here  the  doctor  came  forward  with  plans  which  How 
erson  feared  might  run  into  specifications  for  the  guid 
ance  of  the  architect.  And  when  with  the  bulbs  of  his 
fingers  pressed  together  he  had  finished,  nothing 
remained  for  settlement  except  the  name.  It  was  unfort 
unate  that  Mr.  Whateley  was  determined  to  withhold 
his  own  identity  from  so  munificent  an  endowment.  This 
was  concluded  with  an  "  ahem  "  so  suggestive  of  argu 
mentative  resources  shunted  for  the  moment  but  to  be 
coupled  up  again  upon  call,  that  Whateley  ought  to 
have  yielded,  but  he  did  not.  He  looked  at  Howerson, 
and  without  hesitation  the  Poet  said  that  the  name  sug 
gested  itself,  the  "  Annie  Zondish  Institute." 

Whateley  declared  it  an  inspiration,  and  the  doctor 
nodded,  smiling ;  and  yet  shrewdness  if  inclined  toward 
mischief  might  have  deducted  a  mild  protest  against  a 
feminine  name  for  so  masculine  an  establishment. 
Indeed,  why  not  the  "  Henshaw  Institute  "?  But  the 
doctor  said  nothing.  Like  a  politician  forced  by  "  love 


450  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

of  country  "  to  second  the  nomination  of  his  rival,  he 
ate  with  a  sickly  smack  his  dish  of  patriotic  crow. 

For  a  moment  Annie  looked  frightened.  "  Surely, 
you  don't  mean  that,"  she  said  to  Howerson,  to  Whate- 
ley,  appealing  from  one  to  the  other. 

' '  The  school  is  named, ' '  said  Howerson. 

"  Named,"  said  Whateley. 

"  Yes,  ah  —  a  —  hem !  ' '  from  the  doctor. 

"  I  shall  not  try  to  conceal  my  pride  in  the  name," 
the  woman  was  quick  to  acknowledge.  "  I  know  I  do 
not  deserve  such  honor,  but  I  shall  make  myself  worthy 
of  it.  Mr.  Whateley,  charity  as  we  continue  to  practice 
it,  is  more  a  crime  than  a  virtue.  I  read  in  history  that 
the  monasteries  were  the  cause  of  poverty  during  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  if  indiscriminate  giving  was  bad  then, 
it  is  worse  now.  The  proper  education  of  the  youth  of 
to-day  will  prevent  the  poverty  of  to-morrow.  Doctor, 
your  book  says  cleanliness  is  next  to  godliness.  Let  the 
future  book  say  that  industry,  knowing  how  to  do  a 
thing  well,  is  godliness.  Mr.  Whateley —  " 

Miss  Gwin,  Whateley 's  stenographer,  was  shown  into 
the  room.  She  looked  about  in  fright  as  falteringly  she 
advanced,  an  indecisive  chicken,  "  shooed  "  gently  by 
old  Paul.  Whateley  spoke  to  her  kindly,  and  Howerson 
offered  her  his  chair,  but  she  seemed  afraid  to  sit  down. 

Whateley  spoke :  ' '  Miss  Gwin,  you  didn  't  come  to  the 
office  to-day. ' ' 

' '  My  mother  wasn  't  well  enough  for  me  to  come,  sir. ' ' 

"  And  I  expressed  a  wish  to  see  you,"  the  old  man 
continued.  "  But  I  didn't  expect  you  to  come  away  out 
here.  Er  —  I  suppose  your  mother  knows  that  the 
Superior  Court  has  reversed  the  decision  in  her  case 
against  me?  " 


WHERE  THE  ROAD  FORKED  451 

She  drooped.  "  Yes,  sir,  she  knows  it,  and  it  was  a 
hard  blow.  And  now  you  are  going  to  discharge  me, 
sir?  " 

' '  Let  us  stick  to  the  matter  in  hand,  Miss  Gwin.  The 
Superior  Court  says  that  I  don't  owe  your  mother  five 
thousand  dollars.  But  Mr.  Howerson  investigated  the 
case  and  says  that  I  do."  He  turned  to  the  table  and 
took  up  a  slip  of  paper,  held  it  out  to  her.  "  So  here 
is  a  check  for  six  thousand,  one  thousand  for  you.  You 
are  a  good  girl,  Miss  Gwin." 

She  could  not  take  the  check.  She  reached  forth  her 
hand,  but  powerless  it  fell,  and  she  sobbed.  Howerson 
took  her  gently  by  the  arm,  put  the  check  into  her  hand 
and  hushed  her  as  he  would  a  child.  When  she  could 
speak,  she  said: 

"  Mr.  Whateley,  mother  and  I  will  pray  for  you." 

"  Yes,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  old  man.  "  But  not 
in  public.  Damn  it  —  beg  your  pardon,  ladies,  and  Dr. 
Henshaw. "  And  then  he  laughed.  "  I  don't  want  it 
noised  about  that  I  am  easy,  but  after  all  one  of  man's 
greatest  consolations  is  to  feel  that  he  is  an  agent  of 
justice." 

Miss  Gwin  murmured  that  she  must  go,  and  Whateley 
nodded  his  approval.  "  Yes,  you'd  better  go  home  at 
once,"  he  said.  "  The  check  will  do  your  mother  more 
good  than  medicine." 

' '  A  goodly,  a  very  goodly  sum, ' '  the  doctor  spoke  up, 
his  mouth  slightly  watering.  When  Miss  Gwin  had 
taken  her  grateful  leave,  turning  at  the  door  meekly  to 
give  Whateley  a  tearful  look,  Annie  Zondish  said  that 
she  too  must  be  on  her  way.  With  swift  motion  she  seized 
old  Calvin's  hand.  "  Mr.  Whateley,  I  hope  you  will 
forgive  me  for  the  evil  I  thought  of  you." 


452  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Miss  Zondish,  I  am  unfortunately  not  of  a  very  for 
giving  nature,  but  as  I  don't  believe  you  ever  intended 
me  any  real  harm,  I  can  easily  say  I  forgive  you. ' ' 

Before  he  reached  the  end  of  this  speech  she  had 
looked  at  Howerson,  caught  his  eye,  foreseeing  the  trial 
through  which  he  was  soon  to  pass;  but  in  his  coun 
tenance  she  saw  no  weakness.  And  when  he  had  gone 
with  her  to  the  door  she  said :  ' '  You  will  find  me  at  the 
old  place,  George."  He  held  her  hand  and  was  silent. 
1 '  I  have  waited  a  long  time  for  you  to  come  back.  .  .  . 
You  will  not  falter. ' ' 

"No.     .     .     .     And  I  wiU  shield  you." 
t  "  I  forbid.    Why  should  you?  " 

' '  To  save  the  name  of  the  school. ' ' 

"  Spare  nothing  in  the  way  of  truth.  .  .  .  Come 
to  me  early  to-morrow." 

"  Perhaps  to-night."  he  said. 

Meanwhile  the  doctor  was  taking  his  leave.  Old  Cal 
vin  was  cordial,  laughed  over  him,  told  him  to  "  drop 
in  "  whenever  he  felt  disposed.  They  heard  him  bid 
old  Paul  good  night,  heard  the  door  close,  and  then  with 
bright  and  confidential  countenance  Whateley  turned  to 
Howerson,  both  standing.  "  Ha,  no  matter  how  liberal 
we  think  he  is,  the  atmosphere  is  sometimes  clearer  when 
the  preacher's  gone.  Mr.  Howerson,  George —  " 

"  But  Henshaw  seems  to  be  kind-hearted,"  Howerson 
interrupted. 

' '  Oh,  yes,  he  is  improving,  but  is  held  back  from  com 
plete  reformation.  That  would  put  him  out  of  his 
church.  We  may  be  freethinkers  ourselves,  in  private, 
but  we  demand  that  our  preacher  shall  be  more  or  less 
of  a  poser.  Sit  down  and  let  us  talk." 

"  But  first  I  must  tell  you  of  something  that  is  of 
heavier  importance  —  to  me,"  said  Howerson. 


WHERE  THE  ROAD  FORKED  453 

"  Ah,  some  favor  to  ask?  Don't  hesitate.  You  could 
hardly  ask  a  favor  I  would  not  grant." 

"  Mr.  Whateley,  I  have  a  confession  to  make  to  you, 
one  that  —  "  * 

' '  Yes  —  ah,  by  the  way,  I  gave  employment  about  a 
week  ago  to  a  man  you  recommended.  He  presented 
your  letter,  and  as  he  didn't  appear  to  be  capable  of 
any  kind  of  office  work,  he  is  now  on  duty  here  about 
the  house." 

"  Letter  from  me,  Mr.  Whateley?  I  gave  no  one  a 
letter." 

"  Not  to  a  man  named  Everharte?  " 

"  To  nobody." 

"  That's  strange." 

He  went  to  the  door  and  called  to  the  old  butler. 
"  Find  Everharte  and  tell  him  to  come  here."  Return 
ing  to  his  chair  he  stood  beside  it,  looking  at  Howerson. 
'  Very  strange.  He  has  asked  repeatedly  as  to  when 
you  might  be  back.  I  didn't  like  his  looks  much,  but 
as  he  had  a  letter  which  I  would  have  sworn  was  in  your 
handwriting,  I  employed  him." 

Howerson  moved  over  toward  the  door  listening, 
alert.  ' '  I  think  I  understand, ' '  he  said. 

"  Ah,  soon  we  shall  both  understand,  no  doubt." 

' '  Yes,  very  soon. ' ' 

Howerson  stood  waiting,  Whateley  wondering;  both 
silent.  Footsteps  sounded  down  the  hall,  quickening  as 
nearer  they  drew,  almost  running;  and  into  the  room 
came  Henk.  Upon  seeing  Howerson  so  close  to  him  he 
drew  back,  but  Howerson  moved  toward  him.  "  You 
infamous  scoundrel!  " 

Henk  sprang  back,  clapping  his  hand  to  his  hip,  but 
his  courage  failed,  and  he  cowered,  a  pistol  half  out  of 
his  pocket.  Howerson  seized  upon  him,  crushed  him 


454  THE  NEW  MB.  HOWERSON 

writhing  to  the  floor,  snatched  away  his  pistol,  and  with 
one  hand  at  his  throat,  raised  the  weapon  to  strike  him. 

"  Don't  —  please  don't.    I  give  up." 

Howerson  let  him  up.  Whateley  was  still  standing 
beside  the  chair,  wondering,  frost  in  his  countenance. 
Howerson,  holding  Henk  by  the  collar,  looked  toward  the 
old  man.  He  came  forward  a  few  steps,  halted  and 
spoke;  and  his  words  came  cold:  "  Drag  him  out  and 
turn  him  over  to  the  policeman  at  the  corner.  Be  as 
quiet  as  you  can ;  I  don 't  want  anybody  to  know. ' ' 

"  Come  on,"  Howerson  commanded;  and  with  his 
hand  on  the  wretch's  collar  he  dragged  him  out,  down 
the  walk  and  through  the  gate,  and  outside,  stood  him 
against  the  fence. 

"  Don't  choke  me.    I  won't  try  to  get  away." 

Howerson  released  his  collar,  but  stood  confronting 
him.  The  moon  was  shining  and  he  could  see  the  wretch 
trembling.  Henk  spoke :  ' '  We  were  brothers  once. ' ' 

"  Don't  call  me  your  brother.  I'll  choke  the  life  out 
of  you." 

"  Yes,  you  could  do  it.  You  are  strong.  But  I  am 
weak  in  every  way.  I  would  have  shot  you,  but  you 
looked  at  me  and  it  killed  the  liquor  in  me,  and  my  heart 
stopped.  I  am  not  a  man  of  blood.  I  think  so  till  the 
time  comes  and  then  I  am  not.  I  ought  to  have  known 
that  I  couldn  't  shoot  you.  I  tried  to  the  night  you  came 
at  us  with  the  sword,  and  my  heart  weakened  on  me. 
This  time  I  thought  I  could  brace  myself  and  die  a 
martyr,  but  it's  not  in  me.  I  saw  Annie  Zondish  come 
here,  but  I  didn  't  let  her  see  me,  for  I  knew  that  she  too 
had  deserted  us.  But  I  never  had  murder  in  my  heart 
except  when  I  was  in  liquor.  Mr.  Howerson,  let  me  go, 
and  you  will  never  hear  of  me  again.  The  whole  scheme 


WHERE  THE  ROAD  FORKED  455 

is  a  failure  —  we  have  all  found  that  out.  You  are  to 
be  rich  and  respected  and  I  am  to  go  to  the  penitentiary. 
Let  me  off.  I  will  go  away  somewhere  and  work  at  my 
trade.  I  am  a  bricklayer  and  a  good  one.  I  will  let 
liquor  alone,  too.  I  have  done  it  years  at  a  time  before 
my  home  was  broken  up  and  I  fell  back  into  drink.  But 
I  won 't  do  it  again.  Let  me  go. ' ' 

"  What  you  tell  me  may  be  true,"  said  Howerson. 
"  I  don't  know.  But  I  do  know  that  when  I  try  to 
stand  in  judgment  over  you,  the  ground  is  slippery 
beneath  my  feet.  Just  now  you  were  planning  to  harm 
me,  no  one  else,  and  in  that  belief  I  can  forgive  you. 
Go  away  somewhere  and  work.  Here."  Into  Henk's 
hand  he  thrust  a  roll  of  bank  notes.  ' '  About  a  hundred 
and  ten  dollars,  I  think.  My  scheme  may  fail,  five  times 
out  of  ten,  but  I  am  going  to  see  it  through." 

Henk  was  now  tall  against  the  fence.  "  Mr.  Hower 
son,"  he  said,  "  if  I  believed  in  a  God,  I  would  call  on 
him  to  bless  you." 

"  Whether  you  believe  it  or  not  He  exists,  and  this 
night  infused  me  with  His  mercy  or  I  would  have  killed 
you.  Here,  take  your  pistol." 

"  No,  no,  I  don't  want  it." 

' '  Take  it  and  throw  it  into  the  river. ' ' 

He  took  the  pistol,  shuddering  as  he  touched  it.  He 
turned  away  but  looked  back.  ' '  If  there  is  a  God,  I  say 
God  bless  you." 

The  old  man  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room. 
Seeing  Howerson  enter  he  went  quickly  to  his  chair  and 
sat  down.  "  We  shall  hear  nothing  further  from  him," 
said  the  Poet. 

The  old  man  sat  looking  down  at  the  floor.     "  Why 


456  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

did  he  want  to  kill  you?  "  he  asked,  still  looking  down. 
Howerson  halted  not  far  from  Whateley's  chair,  and 
remained  standing. 

"  I  told  you  that  I  had  a  confession  to  make." 

"  Yes,  and  I  begin  to  suspect  that  it  is  a  desperate 
one." 

"  It  is." 

' '  "Why  have  you  waited  so  long  ?  ' ! 

' '  Let  us  call  the  delay  a  want  of  courage. ' ' 

"  No."  The  old  man  looked  up.  "  In  that  quality, 
sir,  you  are  not  lacking." 

' '  Then  let  us  say  a  want  of  moral  courage. ' ' 

"  Very  well.    Go  ahead." 

"Mr.  Whateley — "  From  the  hall  there  came  a 
voice,  a  bit  of  song,  a  heart  song  without  words,  and  the 
old  man  looked  down  again,  and  Howerson,  stricken 
dumb,  stood  with  head  bowed  in  silence.  When  he 
raised  his  eyes  Rose  Whateley  was  coming  toward  him, 
a  melodious  hush  of  welcome  on  her  lips,  in  her  eyes; 
and  then —  "  Oh,  Mr.  Howerson!  "  She  held  out  her 
hands,  englorying  him  with  a  look.  He  caught  her 
hands,  trying  to  laugh.  He  strove  to  speak,  but  his 
heart  bent  back  his  words. 

The  old  man 's  chair  creaked.  ' '  Mr.  Howerson  has 
something  to  say  to  me." 

' '  Oh, ' '  she  laughed,  ' '  something  that  I  mustn  't  hear  ? 
I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Wait,  please,"  Howerson  cried.  "It  is  something 
that  you  must  hear  —  something  due  you  —  something 
no  other  woman  would  have  waited  for  so  patiently. ' ' 

"  I  will  stay,"  she  said,  and- sat  down  near  the  table, 
to  the  right  of  her  father.  The  old  man  lighted  a  cigar. 
Howerson  stood  off  a  few  paces,  and  about  him  now  there 
clung  no  barn-storming  air.  Ah,  it  had  been  easier  to 


WHERE  THE  ROAD  FORKED  457 

rush  upon  those  avenging  agents,  making  the  air  whistle 
with  his  sword. 

They  waited,  the  old  man  smoking,  Rose  leaning 
forward,  her  arms  folded  upon  the  table.  Howerson 
saw  her  but  dared  not  to  look  into  her  eyes.  He  looked 
at  the  old  man. 

''Mr.  Whateley— " 

The  old  man  looked  at  him,  through  thin  smoke,  and 
in  the  fog  his  eyes  glinted  cold.  ' '  Go  ahead,  sir. ' ' 

' '  Mr.  "Whateley  —  a  failure,  morbid,  a  would-be  sui 
cide,  I  became  a  member,  I  don't  know  how,  of  a  des 
perate  brotherhood  calling  itself  the  '  Agents  of 
Justice.'  ' 

"  Anarchists!  "  the  old  man  interrupted  him. 

Howerson  nodded  his  head.  "  Murderers  without 
nerve,  who  believed  that  they  had  a  mission.  ...  I 
was  elected  to  kill  you. ' ' 

Slowly  the  old  man  blew  smoke  upward.  Howerson 
glanced  at  Rose.  Her  head  had  sunk  down  upon  her 
folded  arms. 

"  In  rags,  with  right  hand  uplifted,  I  took  an  oath 
to  assassinate  you  or  to  forfeit  my  own  life  —  I  from  an 
old  Puritan  family,  I  the  son  of  a  man  who  feared  God. 
In  rags  —  and  in  that  condition  I  could  not  come  near 
you.  So  they  put  fine  clothes  on  me  and  sent  me  forth 
on  my  mission  of  murder.  I  felt  as  one  who  was 
appointed  to  kill  and  then  to  die  a  martyr  to  truth  and 
justice.  In  the  disordered  state  of  my  mind  I  looked 
upon  myself  as  a  true  Christian.  The  first  clear  view 
I  had  of  my  altered  outward  condition  I  caught  from  a 
mirror  in  the  waiting-room  of  your  office.  I  looked  not 
like  an  outcast  but  like  a  gentleman,  and  I  was  startled. 
Still  I  was  a  martyr  and  would  execute  my  mission.  My 
card  came  back  from  you  with  the  demand  that  I  must 


458  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

name  my  business.  Then  I  remembered  having  heard 
some  men  talking  in  the  elevator,  about  waterworks  at 
Glenwich,  and  this  gave  me  a  desperate  cue.  I  seized 
upon  it  and  was  admitted.  I  would  have  shot  you  on 
sight,  but  conscious  of  the  power  I  held  over  you,  the 
ability  to  kill  you  in  a  moment,  I  was  prompted  to  ask 
you  some  vital  question,  to  hear  what  defence  you  would 
make,  but  I  could  summon  no  question.  And  I  would 
then  have  shot  you,  but  at  this  moment  in  ran  little 
Calvin." 

Whateley  looked  at  him,  smoke  slowly  issuing  from 
his  mouth. 

"  Then  you  were  called  out,  and  then  came  — 
came  —  ' ' 

He  looked  at  Rose.  She  had  raised  her  head,  and  she 
seemed  in  a  struggle  to  keep  down  a  sob. 

"  You  returned,  and  before  I  could  realize  what  I 
was  doing,  I  had  accepted  a  commission  from  you.  I 
was  inspired  to  execute  that  and  other  commissions; 
and  I  am  not  asking  or  expecting  pardon  when  I  tell 
you  that  of  gain  for  myself  I  have  had  not  a  thought. 
There  could  have  been  no  sacrifice  of  self  that  I  would 
not  have  made.  ...  During  a  long  time  I  lived  in 
constant  dread  of  being  shot  down,  and  one  night  —  ' ' 

The  voice  of  old  Paul  broke  in  upon  him:  "  Judge 
Brockworth  says  he  must  see  you  at  once,  sir  —  says 
he's  in  a  hurry  to  catch  a  train  and  can't  wait." 

Old  Calvin  got  up.  "  Show  him  in  there,"  he  com 
manded,  motioning  toward  the  Inquisition.  Without 
looking  at  Howerson  he  strode  out,  strong  and  cold, 
Howerson  's  sad  eyes  following  him. 

"  And  they  were  trying  to  kill  you." 

He  started.    Rose  was  standing  near  him. 

"  Yes,  when  you  came  to  save  my  life." 


WHERE  THE  ROAD  FORKED  459 

' '  Then  I  was  —  of  some  service  to  you.  I  have  tried 
to  believe  so.  Sometimes  I  was  tempted  to  ask  Annie 
Zoudish,  but  I  "remembered  my  promise." 

"  I  don't  feel  now  that  I  was  worth  it  all,"  he  said. 
"  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  if  they  had  killed 
me." 

She  shook  her  head,  the  gnarled  gold  of  her  hair 
lustrous  in  the  light.  "  You  must  not  say  that." 

"  Then  you  have  in  your  heart  at  least  some  forgive 
ness  for  me!  "  She  was  not  looking  at  him  now.  He 
came  nearer,  glancing  quickly  toward  the  door  through 
which  Whateley  had  passed ;  and  it  was  not  the  hope  of 
man 's  forgiveness  that  was  spurring  his  heart  to  gallop ; 
it  was  the  hope  that  his  soul  might  not  die.  He  spoke 
low.  "  To  stand  one  moment  at  that  door,  as  we  —  I 
stood  that  night,  was  worth  a  thousand  years  of  toil  and 
of  dread."  She  was  trembling,  looking  down,  her 
wonderful  poise  broken.  Nearer  he  stood.  "  To-day 
while  my  train  was  on  a  sidetrack,  I  went  into  a  garden, 
long  ago  given  over  to  neglect  and  to  weeds.  But  in  the 
midst  of  the  wilderness  there  grew  a  rosebush,  and  on  it 
bloomed  a  lone  rose,  the  last  of  its  race.  I  have  brought 
it  to  you,  its  namesake." 

Into  his  bosom  he  thrust  his  hand  and  drew  forth  a 
rose,  the  glory  of  a  summer,  and  held  it  out  to  her.  She 
took  it,  looking  into  his  eyes;  she  held  the  rose  to  her 
lips,  to  his  lips,  the  rose  fell  to  the  floor  and  their  lips 
touched  —  and  in  his  arms  he  enfolded  her,  with  the 
shouting  of  his  heart  deafening  him;  and  the  gnarled 
gold  was  on  his  bosom. 

"  Our  play,"  he  said.    "  It  was  written  for  us." 

"  For  us,"  she  repeated. 

"  It  had  to  be  —  it  was  woven  from  the  threads  of 
our  lives.  Come  with  me." 


460  THE  NEW  MR.  HOWERSON 

"  Yes,  I  come.  .  .  .  From  the  first  I  knew  that  I 
should  come  when  you  called  me." 

They  heard  old  Calvin  bid  the  judge  good  night,  heard 
him  coming,  and  stood  apart.  Howerson,  took  up  the 
rose,  gave  it  to  her,  and  she  put  it  into  the  shimmering 
gold  of  her  hair. 

The  old  man  did  not  resume  his  seat.  He  did  not  seem 
to  know  that  anything  had  chanced  during  his  absence, 
that  the  world  had  been  created  anew.  He  spoke  and 
his  voice  was  low.  "  Mr.  Howerson,  you  say  that  I  was 
saved  by  a  little  child.  Out  there  at  the  edge  of  the 
sidewalk  to-night  a  drum  beat,  women  sang,  and  the 
light  of  a  torch  fell  upon  the  soft  countenances  of  men  — 
countenances  once  hardened  by  dissipation  and  crime. 
These  men  were  turned  toward  gentleness  by  the  story 
of  a  little  child.  .  .  .  The  man  to  trust,  Mr.  Hower 
son,  is  the  man  that  has  been  tried.  You  have  been 
tried.  You  did  not  save  me,  but  you  yourself  were 
saved.  I  do  not  forgive  you  because  you  have  been  of 
value  to  me,  but  because  you  are  the  most  unselfish  and 
honorable  man  I  have  ever  known.  I  understand  it  all." 

' '  Do  you  understand  —  everything,  father  ?  ' '  Rose 
asked  of  him,  while  Howerson  stood  as  if  beneath  the 
balm  of  a  benediction. 

He  looked  at  her,  at  the  Poet.  ' '  Often  I  was  at  a  loss 
to  make  you  out,  Mr.  Howerson  —  and  then  I  read  you 
with  Calvin's  eyes.  .  .  .  Yes,  Rose,  I  understand 
everything. ' ' 

They  heard  the  boy  calling.  Clad  in  his  wolfskin  coat 
he  stood  in  the  door.  "  Grandpa,  please  come  on." 

'  Yes,"  said  the  old  man ;  "  yes,  we  are  coming  now." 
He  turned  to  Rose  and  to  Howerson :  ' '  Come,  and  let  us 
go  into  the  Cabin  and  play  with  little  Calvin." 


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